Playing Against Type
by Mirror and Image
Summary: [Complete] Almost a year after Gorse, Hera brings Kanan to an interstellar hub to meet a contact and get information. But the interstellar hub isn't a hub at all, but a slave station. Hera is determined to both get the information and free the slaves. Kanan doesn't think both are possible, but he'll follow her anyway.
1. Part 1

**Playing Against Type**

Mirror and Image

Twi'leks were a distinct race in the galaxy in terms of other species perceiving them. The rule of thumb was that the men were as ugly as the women were beautiful. Multiple skin colors, strong bodies, firm muscles and twin lekku (hence, Twi'lek) that maintained balance, Twi'leks were, at the end of the Republic and most especially during the dark times of the Empire, a rich resource for the slave trade. Men were excellent workers, strong backs, and valued warriors, while women were – well, whatever their owners wanted them to be.

Hera, born into this age, understood what being a Twi'lek meant in the galaxy, of course, but it was not until she left her home on Ryloth that she really _saw_. No, not even saw, _experienced_. So many beings in the galaxy would double take when they saw her, almost any species that was male was immediately sweet on her, or worse, made assumptions about her. She'd lost track of the number of times people offered to buy her, of the ways she was made to feel uncomfortable, the things she was expected to do or be simply because she was a Twi'lek. Her father had warned her, of course, had told her that the birth of the Empire was the death of all honor in the galaxy, and that it was an even more dangerous place to live than during the Clone Wars. At least then there were _Jedi_ , to remind people what true honor was supposed to be. Jedi would take any race, any species, and judged no one, and honored everyone.

Slowly, over most of her teenage years, Hera learned to live with – even use – the fact that she was a Twi'lek to her advantage. She learned when to flirt, when to down play, when to smile coyly to get what she wanted. She learned which crushes were cute and which were lecherous; she learned when to lead someone on and when to shut someone down. And there was no better way to learn how to defend oneself than in defense of one's body day after day. A blaster was a must-have for this galaxy, and she made herself an expert.

Kanan, when they met, was amusing. Her first impression was of a brawler, picking at an old rivalry that fared well and gave her an advantage that she used unscrupulously. He caught up to her with her cloak, and the most memorable part of their exchange was him staring at her, wide eyed, in the perpetual night with a mouth partly open.

"Do you speak Basic?" she had asked.

"... Words fail me," he had said.

It was, on reflection, the most honest admission of a crush that she had experienced, and at the time she had been happy to let it go at that. The galaxy was a different matter, of course, and her first impression was slowly worn away. The more she saw of him the more he impressed, and the more she watched, the more she saw someone fighting to hide his heart from the universe, to hide his keen mind and extraordinary physique. Every time it seemed they were cornered on Gorse, or at Vidian's mining depot, or even on the crystalline moon with its thoralide, he somehow came up with a wild idea, a creative pulse of a thought that worked in ways she would never have imagined. Pretending to be the hand of the Emperor to the star destroyer captain? Faking a psychotic break and "attacking" mining freighters when actually destroying TIE fighters? Even something as simple as pretending a Wookie was being sick in the cantina, he always managed to surprise. The honest crush was connected to a man who was so _dishonest_ about his abilities that she didn't know what to make of him.

And then she watched him touch the Force.

The mishmash of fear, sheepish self-consciousness, and the desperate whisper of, "Please don't tell anyone," had convinced her that she wanted him on her team.

Not that she had a team really, just an earnest desire to do something against the empire, to _build_ something, and Kanan and his crush was her first stone.

They had been together for a little less than a year. Their conversations during long hyperspace voyages were still very carefully on safe topics. She learned very quickly to never touch his time as a Jedi, she had once called him "Master Jedi" as a joke and had watched him physically recoil, saying it wasn't funny and disappearing to his bunk with a bottle of something he had smuggled onto the _Ghost_ when she wasn't looking. He had drunk himself to a stupor and didn't talk to her for almost two days. Kanan, in turn, learned her father was the famous Cham Syndulla and that was a very Closed Topic for her as well.

Chopper whistled and wuffed, disconnecting his port and announcing that they had arrived at their destination. They were in Hutt space, outside the Empire's reach for now, and supposedly the only safe place Hera's contact would meet her. As they left hyperspace, Hera blinked slowly when she saw the space station, an interstellar hub to dock and maintain star ships while going from one end of the galaxy to another. Almost every transport coming or going had the distinct design and lines of slaveships. Not an interstellar hub then, but an illegal slave station. Something inside her cringed, and she took a long, slow breath through her nose to mentally prepare herself for what she was about to go through.

She was a Twi'lek. She would use her looks and her charms to get what she wanted. But she would _never_ pose as a slave. How many of her people were there, she wondered, and the thought made her sick inside. She took another breath and sent her transponder signal, asking permission to dock.

"Do you know who your contact is?" Kanan asked from the copilot seat. His rich baritone was quiet, thoughtful, as if he knew what was going on in her mind. Maybe he did, he was a Jedi after all.

"A Weequay named Thal Tyr," she answered, eyes on the command board and waiting for permission to be granted.

"Obviously an alias," Kanan muttered.

Hera turned. "How would you know?" she asked.

"A _thal_ is a shrine of polished black stone that they perform their religious ceremonies on and Tyr..." He shook his head. He pulled at an invisible hair to run back into his pony-tail and leaned back, crossing a leg over his knee. "How do we play this?" he asked, a distracting glint in his eye. "Don't tell me you have a slave princess outfit and never thought to let me see it?" The easy grin was on his face, he was in his cowboy role, the one he wore so often once he was off the ship, the rowdy brawler who was the muscle of the two-person crew.

Hera shook her head. The amount of random knowledge Kanan had in his head was astounding, she sometimes couldn't wrap her mind around the sheer level of education the Jedi must have gone through. She had also thought the name an alias, the holonet was nothing if not a hit-or-miss place to find contacts, but this was too good a lead to pass up, and Fulcrum agreed. If everything went according to plan, Hera would leave the station with a complete list of all the Outer Rim planets that had resources the Imperials wanted _and_ a list of the Imperial priorities on how to take them. She had been expecting a planet, not a space station, a place where she would blend in. In a slave station, she would stand out terribly, and the risk to herself was double or triple that of other species in the galaxy because she was a Twi'lek. In truth, she hadn't planned on it, and her long pause was enough to tell Kanan that.

He pulled out his blaster and handed it to her. "I have an idea."

* * *

It wasn't an idea, exactly, Kanan was willing to admit on reflection. And it was a _kriffing stupid_ idea, now that he was stripped of his blaster and his shoulder guard, changed into one of his work shirts and an barely-held together pair of pants. He walked shoeless, behind Hera, eyes downcast and hands clasped politely in front of him. It was obvious to everyone once they disembarked: Hera was the owner, and he was the slave.

As an Initiate he had taken several courses on the economy of the Republic, and that included slavery. Free labor was, well, _free_. With no salaries to pay, money could be funneled to other interests and profit margins were nominally larger. It was economically pragmatic, Master Tyr, a Weequay Jedi, had said, and one of the most consistent ways to promote racism, hatred, and discord.

"To own someone," he had said, "Is to hold them as an object, a thing. It gives you a power over that being that no one has the right to have, and it allows the owner to think they are somehow better. Those who grow up in that environment are doomed to have the lens of their perception forever skewed by its color, in the most subtle and disturbing of ways. These are beings who don't even realize the contempt they hold for other creatures in the galaxy."

When Kanan was still Caleb, still trying to live in a galaxy with a target on his back and teenage hormones shoving him in every reactionary direction possible, many people had taught him how to look down on others. An easy way to blend in, to be invisible, was to look out only for oneself, and an easy way to do that was to treat the galaxy like it was beneath you. Just a drifter passing through, cocky and confident, and a loner who liked women. And, well, he was a _teenager_ , his body taught him almost as much as the people he was around, and warm beds were sometimes better than drinking.

He had learned how to flirt, when to play it up, when to smile coyly to get what he wanted. He learned how to catch a woman's eye just as she caught his; and he learned how to lead a girl on and when to leave quickly. There was no better way to release tension than fighting a jealous boyfriend, or the thrill of running from angry parents. When things were bad, when he was ready to just implode with hiding everything that he was and a bottle or a brawl wasn't nearby, it was a woman who could give him release.

It wasn't until he met Hera – no, it had started before; he just wasn't sure when. It wasn't until Hera that he understood why he sometimes, after leaving yet another bedroom, felt like he hated himself. He was using the women he bedded as objects, things to relieve himself with. He didn't care about their emotions and didn't let himself attach to them – the epitome of a drifter – and in doing so he never considered the consequences of when he left.

Hera was different than any of the women he had ever lusted over. She wasn't interested no matter his best efforts, true (not the first time), but she also wasn't interested in any _other_ man that she had come across in their year together. Many had tried to sweet-talk her, many had made advances to her, but she always shrugged them off and put them in their place. Kanan never interfered, it wasn't his place no matter what he felt, and over time it wasn't jealousy that made him dislike the men who went after Hera, but rather it was because he was exhausted just _watching_ her deal with it so often. Kanan was not unlike those men who chased her, and he was watching how much energy and how often Hera had to turn such men away, and Kanan learned about himself from watching, and he once more didn't like what he saw.

Seeing the slave station and all the slaveships, he had seen her tense, and he knew very well what a Twi'lek would think upon seeing all of that. He tried to play it off, distract her with slave princess fashion, but then he saw the look on her face, and he wanted to spare her this one thing.

And so he was in his work clothes, barefoot, trailing behind his master not unlike a Padawan Learner, only with his head down in deference to her ownership.

The two of them were not subtle; they did not blend in. _Everyone_ stared as a _Twi'lek_ led a _human_ down the dingy, earthy halls of the docking bay.

They moved through catwalks that overlooked the slave pens, Wookies and Twi'leks and Togrutans and a dozen other species corralled together like animals. Most of the guards were human, gawking at the pair, or Zabraks with their horned heads. There were jeers and catcalls, more than a few of the guards turned from their duties to watch the pair, and Kanan felt more than one curious hand on his person. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all, he was playing against type and he wasn't sure he could play it well, but the role had been cast and he would do his best. Head down, he cast his eyes around but did not see a Weequay anywhere on the the ship. That might have meant there were few Weequays here, and he hoped that also meant the informant was easy to find.

Hera was a sight to see, she was still in her old orange flight-suit slacks, brown leathered armor plating her chest and shoulders, and her lekku swung evenly as she walked with purpose down the catwalks like she owned the place. There was a tension in her shoulders, however, that Kanan saw and he realized she was just as uncomfortable as he was. She was used to being invisible, and he had stepped on that in his attempt to help her. Stupid cowboy.

A Zabrak with a datapad stopped them, asking their business, and Hera said something about being on the way to a meeting and thinking about "investing" while she was nearby. The Zabrak nodded, assigning quarters and offering a leash for Kanan. Hera blinked slowly again, absorbing the idea and Kanan saw her shoulders bunch, horror building in her frame. He covered: "I do have a slave chip," he said softly, "It was installed as soon as I was purchased, a leash will not be necessary."

Hera, of course, fell in step perfectly. "Any other questions?"

"Only how far you programed the distance so we know which pen to put him in while you are staying here."

Kanan's first thought: _great_. He knew the reputations of slaveships, and he would be hard pressed to avoid abuse of the humans and Zabraks and still look like a mewling slave, but he wasn't even halfway through processing that thought before Hera rose an arched eyebrow.

"He won't be kept in a pen," she ordered. "He's useful to me and I know very well what goes on down there. I'll keep him in good condition, _thank you_."

The Zabrak gave a lecherous smirk, face heavily tattooed pulling into something dark. "I should have guessed, 'my Lady.' As you wish. He will share your quarters."

A tiny part of Kanan's mind glowed at the idea of sharing a bunk with Hera, but he knew the chances of that were nil to nonexistent, and he dutifully followed her as she was escorted to the sleeping quarters of the station, given a keycard and the necessary filework to sign in, register her slave, and pay the first half of her bill. She entered their quarters and the door automatically shut after them. She started to slouch but Kanan whispered, "Not yet, remember what Zaluna taught us."

Hera nodded without nodding and moved to sit on the couch. She crossed her leg over her knee and said, "You know I don't like being watched."

"As you wish, my Lady," Kanan replied, and dutifully began looking for cameras. The Sullustan had taught them all the standard places to hide cameras back on Gorse, and a few nonstandard places. Kanan's imagination found two other cameras, and they were all disabled quickly if not with finesse. He gave Hera a nod and she immediately slouched, exhaling a large breath. Kanan sat on the cool floor, hands on his knees. "So that was another one of my dumb ideas," he said genially. "Now everyone here thinks I'm your bed toy and that you're attached to me." He sighed. "Sorry about that."

"Were you always this creative?" she asked, rubbing her temples.

"Don't know," he answered. "Was never in the field long enough to find out. The other younglings always thought I asked too many questions."

Hera gave a soft puff of air of a laugh. "Well, we definitely got Thal Tyr's attention with that entrance. The question is if he or she is brave enough to talk to us after all of that."

"Does your contact know they're looking for a Twi'lek and a human?"

"Yes."

"And you made it obvious that you're only here overnight?"

"Yes."

"Then they'll either come or not."

"An excellent non answer," she said, and Kanan could hear the silent "Master Jedi." He cringed, hunching his shoulders and pressing his fists into his knees. He was seated like a Jedi right now, and he shifted to a cross-legged position to fix the problem. He wasn't ready to talk about that part of his life. He didn't know that he ever would be. Not out loud, let alone to Hera. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Next question:" he said. "Do we wait in here or do you send me out to go looking for them?"

Hera looked up, green eyes thinking. "That's a good question. What would I even send a slave out for? I've never had one before."

Kanan started thinking. "Anything, really. I do _whatever_ you want. You could literally tell me to go out and get drunk and I'd have to do it, especially with the slave chip threat."

"What is a slave chip?"

"Implanted bomb. If I run away or I displease you, you can just blow me up."

Hera was horrified. "How do you even _know_ about this?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "We had to learn everything." He saw her look and quickly backpedaled, "Not like that. Just... history, economics, law, how the galaxy works. This," he gestured vaguely to the station, "falls under all of that. The chip, though, that was Master Skywalker." He was a living legend in the creche, the galaxy's greatest and strongest warrior, unrivaled pilot, legendary student of Master Kenobi. Rumors of a hundred types circled around the younglings, and one of them was that the famous Jedi had been a slave when he had been found, and that such a chip had been installed in him. Caleb doubted the tale's veracity, right up until an initiate had asked the great master during a lecture on Form IV. Skywalker didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge the question, but Caleb, near the front and paying rapt attention, had seen a tightening around the eyes, the hint of a frown, and he wondered if it wasn't true.

Hera shuddered. Kanan couldn't blame her.

"Well, 'my Lady,'" he said, standing. "I think you've had enough time to settle in. I'd best be about my work."

Hera nodded. "The premise?"

"Looking for your next 'investment,' remember?"

The Twi'lek nodded. "Kanan," she added before he reached the door, an odd note in her voice. "Talk to the Twi'leks. Maybe while we're here we can stage a breakout."

The former Padawan stilled, hand hovering over the door lock, processing what she was saying and taking a deep breath. "It won't do any good," he said, sad.

Hera stiffened, eyes narrowing to a glare. " _What_?" she asked.

Kanan's rubbed at his temples, not wanting to be on this side of the argument. Not wanting to make the argument at all. Because slavery was _wrong_ and needed to be eradicated. But if they got distracted by every little thing, their whole objective might end in failure. "We don't have time. We have to meet your contact first and foremost."

"Kanan," Hera said coldly, "there are people _suffering_ in those pens, being abused and degraded and debased. Are you saying that we should let that stand?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all. But taking down the slaving industry is more than we can do at the moment. This is an _entire_ facility devoted to slavery. With hundreds, if not thousands, of guards, thousands of innocent slaves crammed into those pens." He looked at her, trying to will her to see what would be necessary. "Do we just kill all the slavers? How do we defend the slaves themselves? What happens if we save one but can't get any of the rest?"

"Those are just excuses," she said, arms crossed.

"Of course they are," Kanan said, "But it doesn't make any of them less true. We tried to end slavery for thousands of years: we bought freedom contracts, we made laws, we raided and invaded and even when there were ten thousand of us in the galaxy it still wasn't enough. This one act won't do anything but draw even more attention to us and scare off your contact."

"And potentially free hundreds of beings," Hera said.

Kanan pursed his lips. "You have to ask yourself which is your priority: sticking it to the Empire and meeting your contact, building your little rebellion; or saving the slaves."

Hera was livid, and her voice suddenly turned quiet. "Why should I have to choose?" she demanded. "Why can't it be both? Why can't we – I – help everyone I see?"

"Because it will destroy you, just like it did us."

Hera's face slacked with surprise, before turning into something hard, stubborn. She stood up and marched up to Kanan, palming the door open and shoving him out the door. "DO as I asked!" she demanded, before the door slid shut between them. Kanan stared at the piece of metal, sad and hurt and unwilling to show it. "As you wish, my Lady," he said softly, before turning and padding submissively down the hall to the slave pens. He didn't want to stick his neck out, didn't want to stand out, but even after a year he still found himself following Hera in every adventure, unable to pull away from the beautiful voice and captivating face. Even when he put that outraged look on her face.

* * *

Hera was shaking, furious. How _dare_ he? She couldn't just _leave_ those Twi'leks in the pens. Or any of the others. And his excuses on slavery being too big a problem to tackle... Nonsense! Just nonsense! She was _in_ this to make things better for people. To stop the Empire, to enrich lives, to bring it back to normal, where one could control one's own destiny. She saw injustices happening left and right, as the Empire closed its fist around the citizens. She _knew_ that there needed to be a rebellion, she had a long goal, even if it took decades, to organize people and get them to _fight back_.

Slavery was just another symptom of the problem. Another sign of the illness that the Empire represented that needed to be stopped.

Hera let out a long sigh, energy draining from her. Kanan wasn't wrong. She had been focused for so long on building the rebellion; that was her goal, that was her purpose. She'd never let herself get distracted. Couldn't let herself get distracted. But _every_ Twi'lek knew that their brothers and sisters were in slavery. It was a duty. They needed to rescue them if ever they could. And the slavery had only gotten _worse_ under the Empire.

But slavery had endured for thousands of years. There had been many, many attempts to put slavery out of business, but it Just. Kept. Going. Hera shook her head. No, any action she took here at the station wouldn't put an end to slavery. Far from it. But it _would_ save some of her people.

She just _couldn't_ let that go if it was right in front of her.

Kanan might have a point. It might be difficult logistically, it might not put any sort of dent in the slave business as a whole, but it would be _something_.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled out her datapad and started downloading information on the station and looking at blueprints, likely structural modifications to accommodate slaves, and thought about how large her ship was and how many she could carry. Did any of the slaves know how to fly a ship? Could they steal one for them to fly as well? Kanan would find out most likely.

Hera's shoulder's slumped. As irritating as Kanan could be, he didn't deserve her to yell at him like that. She'd have to apologize once he returned. She wouldn't let go of freeing the slaves. She couldn't. But maybe she and Kanan could find a middle ground between not getting involved and staying low versus doing something drastic to free everyone.

It was two hours later when Hera started wondering if she should go out on the move. Kanan hadn't arrived and after their very noticeable entrance, no Weequay had come knocking. Perhaps it was time to remind others that she was here. But she chose to stay in her room, going over what she had learned. Kanan might be the tactician and strategist, but she had learned a lot in the past year working with him, and she was no slouch before he had joined her. She was jotting down ideas when there was a polite knock.

Powering down the datapad and putting it in her bag, she stood and straightened herself out. She didn't know who was at the door and it was best to be prepared.

She waved her palm and the door opened and, to Hera's surprise, there were _two_ Weequay there. She arched a delicate brow, frowning slightly. "Greetings," she said politely, not moving an inch.

"Ah," the Weequay in front had longer frill along his jowl, indicating that he was older by at least a half-dozen years, was eyeing her appreciatively. "The Twi'lek who owns instead of being owned."

"So nice to be noticed," she replied. Given that lecherous look, she refused to ask what she could do for him, or how she could help, and she wasn't interested in the slightest in how he was doing.

"And we understand you bear a human male... companion," the elder continued.

"Yes," she replied. "Your point?"

The elder gave a wide smile. "I am Thal Tyr."

Hera tilted her head forward in a more proper greeting. "I am Zaluna," she said, using the name that she had contacted him with. "You had said you would come alone."

"Ahh," the elder continued to smile. "I have brought my little brother. He's learning the family business."

"I see," Hera replied. "You have what I have asked for?"

"You have my credits?"

"Was there ever any doubt?"

Tyr chuckled. "You amuse me, Zaluna. Might my brother and I come in to discuss business?"

"Of course." She stepped back and let them into her room. A glance beyond them showed none watching, either obviously or discreetly, and she palmed the door shut. Turning, she studied the two Weequay more closely. Tyr, the older, was in a long duster, a darker shade of green, with woven silver and gold braiding. The younger had a jacket of similar color and design, no doubt to signify their familial connection, but cut to the waist.

Hera arched her brow again as she studied them. Talking to Tyr on the HoloNet made her think that the Weequay was sympathetic to her cause and desperate for money. Meeting him in person, she believed him to instead be an opportunist. While that was disappointing, the data itself was far more useful.

With a delicate twist of her wrist, she produced a small datachip between her fingers that she held up, even as her other hand rested easily on her blaster as a precaution. "Proof of my accounts," she said, then flicked her fingers, sending the chip spinning through the air. The younger caught it and pulled out a reader to insert the chip. The brothers looked over the numbers, and Tyr frowned.

"This is only proof of the amount promised," he said in a questioning tone. "How _will_ you buy anything after this?"

Hera gave a cold smile and shrugged. "That would be my business."

"And if we chose to raise the price, having met you?"

"Then I wish you the best of luck. Try selling that information to the Empire. I'm sure they'd _love_ to know how you acquired it."

" _Touche_!" Tyr laughed.

"I have provided proof," Hera shifted her weight. "Have _you_ any proof that your data is accurate?"

"Come, come," Tyr laughed again, voice smoky. "Would I have come without proof?" He pulled out his own datachip and handed it to her. Hera pulled out a different datareader from her pocket and downloaded the chip, scanning swiftly through the information.

Hera _willed_ her eyes not to widen. Proof indeed. If this was just a sampling, she _really_ wanted the full file. "This seems adequate," she said instead.

"Excellent!" Tyr gave a wide grin, handing his datareader to his brother. He gave a sly smile, eyes once more wandering her frame. "I don't suppose I could receive a signing bonus? A night with a Twi'lek who owns instead of being owned?"

Hera crossed her arms. "You are decidedly not my type," she said firmly. "Quaint, but not my type."

"Ahhh, one had to try."

"And when," Hera asked, "will you provide me with the data?"

"When you provide the money," Tyr grinned, unrepentant. "Say, at the auction this evening? Plenty of people around so that no mishaps can occur?"

Meaning he likely had several mishaps planned, Hera reflected. But she would have Kanan with her by then. They made an excellent team and would likely see through any ruse. Well, she was walking into this with eyes wide open.

"Very well," she said. "And since you brought your brother along, I think I'll bring my human along, so that we are even as we exchange."

"Shrewd woman," Tyr gave his smoky laugh again. "I do wish to share your bed in the future."

"Impossible," she replied. "Until tonight."

"Until tonight."

She walked them both out and palmed the door shut, her stomach aching.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled out the datapad she had been researching with. Time to read up on the auction for tonight.

* * *

Kanan wasn't thrilled to be touring a slave station looking for a Weequay. Moreover, he didn't relish the idea of going into the pens and offer freedom to only the ones who could fit on the ship. Hera, who normally was very methodical, hadn't thought this through. But, then, seeing her people collared and owned would make anybody a little rash. Kanan remembered his own zeal when he'd heard the beacon, and the price he paid when he jumped out of hyperspace. He grimaced, padding along the dirty floors on his bare feet and darting his eyes every which way. He still hadn't seen a Weequay, and he knew his abilities in the Force were dull enough that he wouldn't be able to sense one if he tripped over one. He could only hope that the desert dweller was with Hera.

Two Zabraks were guarding one of the pens, filled mostly with Twi'lek, and offered cruel smiles when he asked deferentially to be let in.

"What if we forget to let you out?" one of them asked, leaning into Kanan's personal space and making the human wish very badly he could punch this guy in the mouth. Appearances needed to be maintained, however; though he couldn't quite put down the menace in his voice as he replied.

"Then my Lady will be _most displeased_."

The two laughed outright and let him in. Kanan lasted about two steps before the gate slammed shut and the Zabraks deliberately walked off, wanting to make him feel trapped with no way out. It would take better men then they to pull off that stunt, and Kanan waited until they were well out of sight before he dropped the act. He straightened and put his hands on his hips, looking right ahead at the three Twi'lek men who stared at him with undisguised hatred. He could tell right from the start that this conversation was going to go _swell_.

He tried for amiable. "What's up, guys?"

"What is that traitorous _bitch_ doing here?" one of the men, clearly the alpha, demanded. Obviously their sell of Hera being an owner and he a slave had worked even in the pens. Kanan filed that thought away for future use.

"A little liberation," he said smoothly, crossing one ankle over the other.

Incredulous stares from the men; desperate hope from the women, confusion from—Force, there were children here, too. The silence hung around, nobody quite sure how to react to his declaration, and Kanan pushed his point. "My captain," he said, "Came here thinking it was a planet to meet a contact. We found this place instead. We have one light Corellian freighter – and I mean _freighter_ , sleep quarters are terrible, cargo bay is tiny. At max we can grab maybe a dozen of you, and that's a stretch. There is no one else besides us, and you have to decide if you're going to take up that offer."

The men were still distrustful, but Kanan could see almost all of the women glancing at each other, exchanging silent communication with blinks and shrugs, before one, face lined with age and shoulders stooped with experience, stood. Her accent was thick, almost unintelligible, but Kanan understood: "The greater gift would be destroying the slave chips," she said. "Were that we had that, we would free ourselves."

Slave chips... there could be any number of controls: palm devices all the way to a central hub, frequencies could be too different to jam, there might be protection protocols, a hundred different things could go wrong. Kanan pursed his lips. That meant a longer op, research and data collection; space, they really were playing against type. Hera was the stealth and slicer, he was the muscle, but now with their roles reversed... how could they do it? First they needed more information. He glanced at the gate, saw the Zabraks heading back, so he moved his way deeper into the pen, away from their ears. The women understood this immediately, started giggling and talking, moving in and screening him from the guards. He sat down on the floor, eye level with some of the younglings, and one of the men did the same, as did the ancient Twi'lek woman. "What are your names?" he asked.

"Orgadomo," the male said, teal skin and black eyes. His lekku fell halfway down his back, and an ugly scar ran across an eyebrow.

"Suu," said the wizened lady, tan skin leathery with age and eyes yellow eyes so pale as to be white. Her lekku were so long they were wrapped delicately around her shoulders.

"Kanan," the former Padawan said. "I don't have a lot of time, my captain is supposed to be meeting her contact right now. How much do you know about the slave chips?"

"Not where they are," Orgadomo said bitterly.

"No one would," Kanan said, sharp but not mean. "How are they controlled? Do the guards have palm devices, or do the higher ups need to be alerted? Have you ever heard anything about frequencies?"

Both Twi'lek looked at each other, frowning. Orgadomo wasn't going to be much help, Kanan already knew that – the man was too angry at his station, too busy feeling sorry for himself to think about getting out of his situation, opportunistic. The teal Twi'lek would be great in a fight but not before. Suu was the better chance, she had the age and experience to watch, the insight to know how to help herself – help all the Twi'lek – instead of just herself. She rubbed her chin with a gnarled finger, eyes unseeing. "When Oola tried to escape," she said softly, accent thick, "We all watched; he made it nearly to the docking bays before he..."

Kanan nodded. "I understand," he said, sensitive to the pain on the old woman's face. "That means the guards don't have a handheld shut off. That mean's there's a hub here somewhere. Do you know if you all have the same chips, same frequencies?"

This time it was Orgadomo's nodded. "Almost all of us are recent captures, within the last year; we were implanted as soon as we came here."

"That means most likely that they use the same chips." It would be cheaper to buy chips in bulk, from one manufacturer, and that would make the actual mission easier. Figuring out who the manufacturer was, though, and their frequencies... "One of you will have to come with me," he said. "Preferably a child."

Orgadomo's scarred face twisted. "What?" he demanded.

"I'm here on the pretext of looking for a new investment," Kanan replied. "Young labor is a better investment."

The Twi'lek looked like he was about to do violence, but Suu reached a tan hand out and touched his arm. "Gobi," she said. "She is bright and precocious. She watches; and she is quiet."

A petite pink mother stepped forward. Clinging to her smock was a Twi'lek of maybe twelve; purple skin and purple eyes. She said something in her native tongue, a question, and there was a quick and heated debate that followed, the adults interrupting and interjecting back and forth. Kanan thought he heard some curses, but he carefully tuned them out and kept his gaze on the girl, Gobi. She stared at him wide eyed, before slowly detaching herself and sitting in front of him. He didn't know much Twi'leki, but he tried his best.

" _Are you scared?_ " he asked.

She nodded.

" _I don't blame you._ "

" _Are you scared?_ "

Kanan spent nearly half of his life being scared: scared of being discovered, scared of being captured, scared of being killed or hunted. He had long ago learned to live with the fear, however, and over time he hardly noticed. He didn't think too hard about what that meant. Instead he nodded. " _But I still want to try._ "

Gobi nodded. Kanan reached out his hand and she took it. The pair stood, and Kanan saw the elderly Suu nod, Gobi's mother's hands covering her mouth and anxiety rippling through her frame. It dawned on Kanan how terrifying it must be to trust one's child with a complete stranger with the uncertain hope of freedom. The weight of what she was doing settled on Kanan's shoulders, and he stood straight, giving a slow, meaningful nod. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure nothing happens to her," he said.

The mother was about ready to break down, but Suu nodded. Orgadomo was still suspicious, but he said nothing, black eyes promising retribution if Kana broke his word.

Kanan, new charge in tow, moved back towards the gate. The Zabrak were of course lecherous in their looks, laughing to themselves over whatever they thought was funny. Kanan had a very good idea, of course, but he was still playing against type, he kept his eyes down and deferential, back straight and steps soft. Gobi kept to his side, never daring to look at the guards. He quietly hoped they wouldn't harass the pair with their base ideas, but he'd learned the hard way since joining Hera that things never _quite_ went as planned. One of the guards detached and followed them down the narrow halls, disgusting grin plastered on his face and Kanan just knew the Zabrak was either going to do or say something supercilious or facetious. He pushed his pace a little, and the girl understood the speed, matched his pace perfectly.

"Hey!" the Zabrak said.

Kanan ignored him, kept walking. The Zabrak quickened his pace, and the former Padawan struggled to stay in character. He did _not_ what to hear what this guy had to say.

"I said _hey_ ," the Zabrak said, reaching up and grabbing Kanan's arm. Kanan briefly considered pushing through, or even just throwing a punch, but any nascent satisfaction that would bring would be moot because of the trouble it would cause. He stopped, allowed himself to be turned, stared at the dark eyes.

"Shouldn't you be guarding the pens?" he asked.

"It can wait," the guard said.

"Surely you would not leave your partner to fend for himself," Kanan suggested.

The Zabrak grinned, an oily, ugly thing. "That desperate to get the little tail-head to yourself, are you? Can't I just watch as you shove your saber in her?"

Stars _above_ , Kanan didn't want to hear this. "My lord has curious ideas," he said formally, seething underneath. "Whatever base suggestion you are inferring is incorrect, and so I must ask you to leave before I am forced to defend my Lady's honor."

"Oho!" the Zabrack said, eyes alight with another sick idea. "Is that how it is?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"That tail head likes girls, huh? From little bitches like that one to girly little nerfs like you, eh? Now I've _got_ to watch when she-"

Any further ugliness Kanan interrupted with his fist, a solid connection with perfect form that broke the Zabrak's nose in a fountain of blood as the guard's head snapped back and he crumpled to the metal floor. Kanan held his follow through for a brief moment, taking a deep breath before straightening. "I warned you," he said, "I would defend my Lady's honor." A sliver of masculine confidence bled through, there was a sneer in his voice he couldn't quite hide, but Kanan consoled himself that everything he had done was perfectly in character. Mostly in character. Okay, not even a little in character. _Kriff_ , time to leave.

Kanan glanced at little Gobi, but the girl was still clutching his hand, looking up anxiously as the bad man moaned and writhed on the floor. Her face was wide in terror, to see someone she decided to trust explode in violence. She didn't understand Basic, didn't understand what he had done, only that he had suddenly thrown a punch with enough force to draw blood, and the only thing keeping her in one place was his grip on her hand.

Kanan knelt down, mentally cursing the damage he had just caused, and waited, open. The girl caught his eyes quickly, and he tried to put all his regret on his face, remembering his smattering of Twi'leki. " _I'm sorry,_ " he said. " _He said a bad thing._ "

The Zabrak was starting to get up and Kanan couldn't afford to wait for her response, he snapped to his feet and pulled her behind him, edging around the disoriented guard and padding quickly down the hall and around a corner. He kept his pace brusque until he felt safe about the distance from the scene, and he went back to walking; they arrived at their quarters without further interruption. Small favors.

Hera opened the door and her green eyes widened in horror to see Kanan with a child in tow. Kanan didn't give her room to react, making his way into the room and palming the door shut before he dropped his cover. "Don't yell," he said quickly, "She doesn't know Basic."

Hera was left sucking in a breath, a murderous look on her face, before she closed her eyes and Kanan watched her count to ten in a few different languages. She exhaled and looked down to Gobi, still holding Kanan's hand as security even as she stared up at Hera with something that looked like awe. She said something in Twi'leki, Kanan didn't understand all of it, but Hera's face softened almost immediately and knelt down. "There are a lot more like me," she said gently, offering her own hand, everything about her warm and open, even in the Force. "And you can be like me, too." She repeated herself in her native tongue.

Gobi let go of Kanan's hand immediately and threw her arms around Hera, purple and green lekku bobbing back and forth as the two shuddered. Kanan felt uncomfortable as the two bonded, and he shuffled over to the other side of the room, sitting down and crossing his legs, closing his eyes and slowly tuning out the sounds. He pretended he was meditating, trying to give the pair privacy and wishing he was a few lightyears away.

It was later when he heard them break apart. The Twi'lek spoke softly in their native language, and Kanan was secretly glad he understood so little of it; he felt like he was intruding as it was just by the fact that he was in the room. He glanced at the chrono and knew that there was only so much waiting still to do. "Can I talk now?" he asked.

Hera gave him a glare but there wasn't much emotion in it. "This wasn't the plan."

Kanan made a face. "Actually, there was no plan. You just sent me down to talk to them, dead set on breaking them out."

"You changed the plan."

"I repeat: there was no plan," Kanan said, plaintive. "There is now, though, if you want to hear it."

"And?" Hera asked, eyebrow raised.

"You buy Gobi."

" _What?_ "

Kanan winced. "Yeah, that sounded better in my head," he said apologetically, hands raised in supplication. "Look, if you offer to buy her, then you'll be given the make, model, and frequency of her slave chip, and based on that we can come up with a way to disable the slave chips on the entire station. In other words, we'd free everyone and they could riot and escape on their own. Or, if you don't like that idea, you can grab one of your scanners from the _Ghost_ and see if you can find the chip in her and remove it to get the same intel, but then you have all the what ifs about where it is and how invasive the surgery is and-"

Hera raised a hand, eyes closed and fingers to her temple, stalling a headache. "I concede the point," she said with some pain. "But what would the frequency get us?"

"One of the Twi'lek down there said that most of them were recent captures. This place isn't exactly Coruscant but they're not exactly scrounging around for parts, either. The chips most likely are bought in bulk, and once we know the distributor we can dig around the holonet to find out how the chips are utilized. In a station this big there probably aren't hand remotes, and the others down in the pens have said things that support that. Once we know what the transponder is, or the common bands of frequencies, then we can either jam or destroy the device. The chips will be rendered inert, and the Twi'lek can take charge of their own destinies."

"Poetic," Hera said, her voice a little too flat to be sincere. She spoke quickly in her native language to the little lavender Gobi, and the shy child came out of her shell as she began to understand what was going on, nodding and saying a short sentence here or there. Her voice was very rich for a twelve-year old, and Kanan wondered if he hadn't pegged the age wrong. Not that it mattered – on reflection Kanan had been at war when he was thirteen, rank of Commander, expected to lead battalions into battle with only the barest education. He had no right to talk about child warriors, and however much he hoped this girl wouldn't end up fighting by the end of today, he knew that things like this were out of his hands and that things would probably go out the exhaust vent, anyway. Gobi would either be able to do what was necessary... or not.

"She agrees," Hera said after several minutes.

"It is good plan," the girl said.

Kanan offered a smile. "Well, what do you know. She _does_ know Basic."

Gobi frowned, glancing at Hera and saying something. She nodded and turned back to Kanan. "Her Basic is about as broken as your Twi'leki," she said.

Kanan snorted. "Then we'll get along just fine."

The two girls stood and Kanan joined them, moving over to a couch with a table. The checkered pattern suggested a _dejarik_ table but nobody turned on a game. With Hera acting as interpreter, Gobi explained everything she knew about the station, which as the old Suu had suggested, was quite a bit. Hera patched into the C1 droid on the _Ghost_ and pulled up the design specs and schematics of the station while Kanan placed an order of purchase into the computer.

The station was, actually, originally an old droid production factory in space – long before the Clone Wars started and the Separatists were still just toying with the idea of seceding from the Republic. Most of the manufacturing rooms had long since been salvaged and scraped clean, leaving only massive, empty chambers that had shifted to use as slave pens. The catwalks above were monitoring platforms with long gone terminals to nudge or modify production. All programming was held in a central core of the ship, not in the circular outside that they were located, but rather a spherical hub floating inside. Whoever had salvaged and/or refurbished the station had obviously spent money on it, and as Hera looked through the list of owners they discovered it had been modified to heard nerfs and banthas and other pack animals. Once the Clone Wars ended and the Empire was birthed from the blood of the Republic, the station had shifted hands to the Hutts, and from there a string of slave entrepreneurs.

Gobi explained what the watches were like, which guards were the pokers and which were the takers and which were the watchers. The adults both cringed at the descriptions and Kanan paced about waiting for the middle-man to complete the transaction. Above the guards were the overseers, and Gobi didn't know who was above them. Food was pitched into the pens from launchers from its pack animal days, the slaves expected to pick up and dispense the food for themselves, while personal hygiene was done once a week in small pens. The slaves were herded into smaller and smaller cells to be washed, and _nobody_ liked the process for a long list of reasons. The watching comment the Zabrak made suddenly made sense, and Kanan wished he'd done more than break the guy's nose.

Kanan wasn't as productive, he was busy waiting for a transaction, and he was getting increasingly dubious that he had caught all the cameras given how long it was taking for someone to come along with a bill of sale for Gobi.

Hera suddenly snorted and looked up as the former Padawan was pacing about the room. "She wants to know if it's soft."

Kana blinked. "What?"

"Your hair. She wants to know if it's soft."

Another blink.

Then he pulled out his tail and ran a hand through his chestnut hair, loosening it and kneeling down, silently offering her to touch it.

Thin, bony fingers rubbed his scalp, tentative at first; exploring the length of his hair. Then she did it again, rubbing her fingers through his hair, knotting and pulling and making noises of surprise.

" _Souple_ ," she said, over and over.

"She says it's soft," Hera translated.

Kanan smiled. "It's also oily, stringy, unwashed, and has untold numbers of split ends."

Hera smiled back and translated. This was how they were when the door to their room was palmed open, and Kanan balked to see two humans walk in as a twelve-year old girl ran her hands through the first human hair she had ever touched, Hera smiling on and encouraging her. The innocence and simplicity of the moment was ruined, and Gobi immediately retreated, head down as Kanan got immediately to his feet. He didn't have time to fix his hair so he just ignored it, let it fall around his shoulders and turned to the two humans. "Are my Lords here to complete the transaction?" he asked.

One of the humans, an albino woman, gave a curt nod. "Here is all the necessary information," she said, handing over a datapad to Hera. The captain took it with a neutral look, green eyes roving over the text. "Bill of sale, title, registration, and serial number."

Hera looked over the data and glanced at Kanan, a subtle flick of the eyes that no one could see if they didn't know what to look for, and Kanan realized she didn't necessarily know what all of that meant. Kanan thought for a moment, trying to word the question and be informative at the same time. "Is the serial number for the slave chip or the child herself?" he asked.

"For the chip," the male said, as dark as the albino was pale. "Her number won't come until the transaction is complete.

"I was not registered when I was acquired."

"That's for the Empire," the woman said. "They'll steal our property and then try to sell it back to us. Can't have that happen, so we added registration chips as well as the slave chips when the new stock is processed. Keeps them honest. Title is what you're likely more used to. I'm sure _his_ title was quite lengthy," the woman added, casting a glance at Kanan, "Given his most likely primary function."

Hera, thank space, didn't need a translation to know what that particular subtext mean. Her cheeks colored but she gave no other indication. Instead she nodded her head and asked, "When do I get the frequency for the slave chip?"

"When the bill of sale is complete," the man said, "and when your credits clear."

"Very well, I will look over the contract now and clear it with my people. You'll receive word when I'm ready to sign."

"Of course. We'll let you get back to your..." the man frowned, glancing at Kanan's unruly hair, "... _activities_."

They left, and Kanan couldn't pull his hair back fast enough, rushing his fingers through the oily mess and cursing in Huttese before tying it back. "This whole crate is going to think I'm a pleasure slave by the end of this mess," he muttered.

Hera was trying to rub the color out of her cheeks. "Your plan, remember?"

"So this is _my_ fault?"

"You were the one who said I didn't have a plan."

" _You_ were the one who wanted to free everyone in sight."

" _You_ were the one who decided to make an _entrance_."

" _You_ were the one who had the contact!" Kanan turned. "Did you even meet him?"

Hera exhaled through her noise, a displeased sound and leaned back onto the couch, Gobi watching with the intense look of a girl trying to follow a language she didn't know well enough. "I did," she said. "My contact was actually two: Thal Tyr had a brother he was 'teaching the business' to." She waved a data chip. "They have a sample of their master list, and if this is just a sampling I want that list even more. I've already uploaded what we have to Chopper on the _Ghost_ , and he'll funnel the intel to Fulcrum if things go south."

Kanan leveled a flat stare, grabbing a stray hair and pulling around his head and back to his tail. "And how will this go south?" he asked skeptically.

"They want to do the formal exchange at the auction tonight. I looked it up on the chrono, it will be well after the dinner hour, very public, and with lots of opportunity for things to go wrong. Twice he mentioned that I was a Twi'lek who owned instead of being owned. I think they're going to try something."

Kanan rubbed his face, sensing the headache before it even arrived. "Of course they are," he muttered before rolling his eyes. "Okay, how much do you know about Weequays?"

"Only that they're desert dwellers," Hera said. "You obviously know a lot more." She said that delicately, sensitive to the fact that she was poking at a very known, very brittle sore spot. That kind of heart was so rare in the galaxy, and Kanan knew he would die for this woman. He pursed his lips, eyes closing to slits as he thought back. "Weequay: earthy skin with a leathery texture, frill along their jaws – how long were theirs? That tells us how old they are."

Hera frowned, thinking back. "The younger brother was still stubby. The older brother was several centimeters."

"Thirties and twenties respectively," Kanan said, running his fingers over the stubble of his beard. Huh, it really was soft... "Their home planet is Sriluur and their sense of identity is heavily tied to the clan instead of the self. Every year spent off their home world equated to a braid in their hair. Weequay are polytheistic, and their biggest gods are Quay, the moon-god, and Am-Shak, the thunder-god. Their ceremonies are done on a _thal_ , as you know. They are devious and deceitful, and they don't usually talk much – at least not in a way most people understand."

That caught Hera's attention. "What do you mean?"

"Their primary form of communication is via pheromones," Kanan said, trying to remember the lectures on sentient species in the galaxy. "Their noses are very sensitive and they can have entire conversations and nobody would know it. Each clan has communication so personalized that anyone outside the clan would have no idea what they're saying. Only..." he frowned, never comfortable saying the word "Jedi" in front of other people, even a twelve-year old child who only barely understood Basic. Some words translated _everywhere_. "Only people like me can tell when they're talking, or at least that's what I was told."

Hera was frowning in thought, one leg crossed over another and foot swinging lightly in the air. "They probably said a lot that I missed, then, while they were here. That almost cinches that they'll try something at the auction. I'll want you there to..." she waved her hand vaguely.

"Whoa, whoa, I don't even know if I can do that," Kanan said quickly. "And you know I don't like using any of that. There's enough of a target on my back as it is."

Hera nodded slowly, not out of agreement but understanding. "So let's time this out. After dinner is the auction; we exchange information, and once we have the list we set off the jamming signal or whatever to free the slaves trapped on this crate. That gives us several hours to stage how this will be done and what to do in case of emergency. Since this was all _your_ idea." Kanan made a face but sat with her at the table. "Let's see the price they put on a fourteen year old girl."

"Fourteen? She looks twelve."

Hera said, face far away, pained, "Nutrition is... a problem here."

Kanan worked his jaw, suddenly and irrationally angry, before he took a slow deep breath threw his nose and let it all out. He did it again, his anger channeling out, before he allowed himself to concentrate. He leaned over, past Hera's profile, and looked at little Gobi. " _We'll get you out of here,_ " he said.

The lavender Twi'lek smiled. "Thank you."

Hera sucked in a breath, and Kanan immediately snapped his eyes to the screen of the pad. And balked. Master Tyr's lectures had never talked about price, and that was a _lot_ of credits. "Do we have that much?" he asked.

Hera shook her head. "I'm pouring almost everything into purchasing this list. It'll be six months of mercenary work as it is to break even. Even two years of work wouldn't pay for this. There's no way we can get the chip frequency."

Kanan leaned back, crossing his arms as he stared at the pad. "What about the serial number of the chip? We do have that. Would the holonet be able to backtrace the manufacturer?"

"We'll have to try," Hera said, "But that's a pretty deep dive. I don't know if even Chopper can do it."

"Give me the pad," Kanan offered. Hera handed it over and he pulled his legs up on the couch, crossing them and leaning on his elbows. He tugged at another loose strand – he was going to have a hundred of them now until he got his hands on a brush – and slowly tuned his focus. He plugged in the serial number and experimented with different search keys. His mind was intent on the task and the world slowly fell away; it was just him and the datapad, tapping the screen and scrolling and tapping again. Numbers and specs and diagrams were zooming through the screen, but none of those bits of data was what he wanted and he tried again. And again. And again.

And then he found it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Yeah. Total Star Wars fans here.

The two of us adored Clone Wars when it was on, though later seasons got heavier and heavier and the Rise of the Bounty Hunters meant less of the characters we were interested in. But Ahsoka always held a place in our hearts, right alongside Obi-Wan (Best Jedi) and Anakin. When Star Wars Rebels came out, it was with an entirely new cast, people we'd never heard of, and we were busy with things like new job/job-hunting depending on which of us you're looking at. So we ignored it. We'd be watching TV some Saturday morning, one of us lesson-planning, the other proofing a chapter for here on ff . net, and we'd see that Rebels was on, but we'd go "eh" and choose something else for background noise.

But one day, Image watched an episode. Fire Across the Galaxy. And suddenly there was interest.

With all the hype for Star Wars Awakens, and Rebels showing up more and more in youtube or on TV, the two of us finally decided, "What the hell?"

We binged Season 1, and everything of Season 2 that was up at that point (somewhere around Protector of Concord Dawn, don't remember what. Definitely before Legend of Lasat).

We were doomed.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, ever since A New Hope, has always been our favorite Jedi, hands down. Sorry Luke. And as problematic as the prequels are (and really, they are), Ewan McGregor _was_ Obi-Wan, cementing him as Best Jedi in our minds and just putting him on top of the Star Wars love pile. Everyone else was all about Han Solo, or Luke Skywalker, or Boba Fett, or what have you, but we were steadfastly loyal to Obi-Wan. When the prequels came out and fans flocked to Anakin-angst, we still looked to Obi-Wan.

But now, Kanan Jarrus has surged way up there and just might topple Obi-Wan Kenobi as Best Jedi. Because Kanan Jarrus is earning being a Jedi on screen in a way that Obi-Wan wasn't allowed to in the prequels. And thus, we became obsessed. We watched the rest of Season 2 religiously, live on TV. We trolled the interwebs looking things up and diving into Rebels lore (which isn't much at this point...) and, of course, started writing fanfiction.

Was there ever any doubt we'd write fanfiction?

This isn't the first fic we wrote. And, honestly, we're still writing. We have and read _New Dawn_ to see how Kanan and Hera met, and, since we love Kanan so much which will naturally extend to his space-wife as a result, we decided to look at what some of the earlier adventures in their relationship would be like. We knew right of the bat from the book and from the show itself, that Hera is very much the covert type. Kanan started off standing out, despite his best efforts not to, because he's a Jedi among normal people, but when the show started, he's still very much a hidden Jedi. Kanan stands out with bizarre plans that somehow work, even if ever changing. Without Zeb to be the muscle, he'd be the default brawler-tough-guy of their minimal crew. So we started exploring going against type and this fic was born.

Poor Kanan is going to be facing a lot of what women face every day in some way, shape, or form, if in a more all-at-once sort of way. He needs to stay in a character of someone who's deferential and passive instead of the cowboy, and it's going to grate on him since he's been the cowboy for so long. Hera, by contrast, is used to being behind the scenes and never seen. Even on Gorse, very few people knew or saw her. But here she's out in the open and attracting attention. She can do it and likely has before, but it's not her preferred method for anything.

The two of them will also totally p0wn things. But that's natural for the two of them.

For anyone worried about our **Ghost of a Chance** fic, that will still be updated on Saturdays. We just can't hold back all our Rebels stuff, so we'll be posting that on Wednesdays. Review replies will still be handled on Saturdays, no matter you next week. ^_^


	2. Part 2

**Part Two**

Hera and Gobi watched as Kanan stared at the screen of the datapad. Hera had seen this look before, the eyes narrow and so very focused. He was doing a Jedi thing, she was certain, and didn't even know it. He used his talents so rarely, but the three times she had seen it thus far had always been preceded by that look. Kanan always shrugged it off, said he wasn't touching the Force at all, insisted that if he _did_ use the Force everyone would know it, and it was at times like this Hera wondered if Kanan didn't realize what he was doing. He moved like water sometimes, gracefully dodging blaster fire or avoiding tripwires and explosives; there was an experience in his movement, a surety that only hardened veterans had – except it was somehow _more_. He wasn't Skelly, scorned by the war and trying to live by doing the only thing he knew, he wasn't her father, hardened by battle and loss and unwilling to compromise. He was like Fulcrum, smooth in everything he did and making it all look effortless. Was that a passive ability of the Force? Of granting its children such exceptionality that they didn't even notice it?

Except Kanan did notice it. He had explained once, whenever he got too comfortable, whenever he forgot himself, that the Force just... did things, and that was usually his sign to move on. She remembered the first time he had used the Force after Gorse, the sheer panic when he realized what he had done and damn near running away in the middle of a firefight before the Empire realized a Jedi was still alive. She had practically locked him in his quarters on the _Ghost_ , talked (shouted) to him for three days, before she managed to make him feel safe again.

She decided not to tell him what he was doing, instead settled in to wait and turned to Gobi.

"He's trying to find out about your chip," she said in her native language. "When we know who makes it we'll know how to turn it off."

"The humans said, I think they said you would get my frequency when you bought me," Gobi replied. "Was that right?"

"Yes," Hera said.

"Then why not buy me?"

Hera smiled. "You're a little expensive, love."

Gobi nodded, frowning in thought. Hera considered her options, turning ideas over in her mind. She wasn't as creative as Kanan, but she knew how to get herself out of a mess when she needed to. And this was _totally_ his fault. "I can sneak up into the air vents," she said slowly, looking at the ceiling, "I won't have to leave the room until the auction, I'll have time to look around and see if I can find out where the central hub of the chip transponders are. Chopper's schematics will keep me from getting lost, and I'll be back in time for the auction."

"And if something goes wrong?"

Hera frowned. "What would you suggest?"

"If I'm so expensive... bargain. Trade."

" _I don't suppose I could receive a signing bonus? A night with a Twi'lek who owns instead of being owned?_ "

Hera made a face. The things she had to do... If it came to that... She _really_ didn't want it to come to that. So she instead climbed on a table and pulled off a panel of the ceiling, looking at the wiring and ductwork, poking her head in to see what directions certain things went.

Hera came down frowning. "The vents are too small," she muttered. Even Gobi, so much smaller than them, wouldn't be able to get through. They'd have to get to a main trunk of the ventilation system, and she already saw signs of possible trapping in the vents. Power cables were usually kept well away from vents in case of burnout and poisonous leakage. But to be actually connected? Very likely for electrocution. That left sneaking through the halls, which was far more dangerous.

"Got it," Kanan said, sitting back and handing over the datapad. "This particular brand is very old, needing a deactivator wand to turn it off. But one wand will match any chips frequency."

Hera's eyes brightened. "And if we broadcast the deactivator across the entire station..."

"Everyone, no exceptions, will be free."

Her heart was almost ready to burst. "And getting a wand won't be hard, will it?"

"No," Kanan shook his head, an easy grin spreading across his face. "Given that every guard has one for when they need to take slaves out away from the pens for things."

"Very good," she praised. " _Very_ good."

And Kanan gave that cock-eyed grin, gave a flamboyant bow, and looked her straight in the eye. "My Lady's praise is high, indeed."

Hera couldn't quite stop the laugh or throwing a pillow from the couch at him. She held up the datapad. "I'll start explaining how to wire this to Gobi. You go get a deactivator wand."

Kanan nodded, his face serious once more. "And let the Twi'lek know what's coming to spread the word."

Her face turned serious once more. "We still need to wait until after the auction. We need that list and we can disappear easily in the chaos, solving two problems at once."

Shrugging easily, Kanan gave another confident grin. "And given the time for the auction tonight, that gives us plenty of time to prepare. For once we might get an easy op out of this." But his face turned serious again. "Start teaching Gobi. I'll be back."

Hera nodded. "Be careful."

* * *

Kanan kept a datapad in front of him as he walked the halls of the station. While he _was_ on his way to telling the Twi'lek and stealing a deactivator wand, he was also mapping out the station. Hera had downloaded some interesting schematics and Gobi's intel had helped clarify things, but he wanted to walk around himself. See guard patterns in areas slaves might not get to, observe security near one of the central control hubs for this area of the station. Get a sense of things that the Force might tell him if he ever dared to open himself up to it again. Which would be never.

So he worked to look the part of a slave looking up information for his owner.

Lewd comments were made to him by several of the guards, and hands would find excuses to try and touch. He ignored most of it and avoided everything else. He had a job to do and fighting against things like sexual harassment would be too tiresome to do all the time, and make him stick out for _other_ demeaning comments. He was just one of many, and it was considered "normal" to make passes at property.

It made his stomach turn, but as he learned back when he was Caleb, there weren't enough Jedi to fix every wrong in the galaxy. Some people were content to be jerks and you couldn't logic or convince them to be otherwise. The best a Jedi could do would be to point out jerkish behavior, make it clear that it was unacceptable at least in a Jedi's presence. Millenia of this made most who actually encountered a Jedi have at least _some_ level of manners, or at least understanding that consequences could occur even if the jerk wished to damn the consequences and keep trying anyway.

But Kanan wasn't a Jedi. He didn't have that sort of reputation with thousands of others to back him up. Instead, he was alone, pretending to be a slave, and working his way through harassment that would at least abate if a true Jedi was there.

So he put up with it. It always took many to affect change. And he was just one. A half-trained child of ways he had forsaken just to survive. The harassment might disgust him, the same way it did whenever he saw it happening to Hera, but he was meant to bear it in this role he chose.

He would be glad to be off this station. At least when others chose to be so vulgar with Hera, she could handle herself, and he would back her up as necessary. Or he could step in and handle it if Hera was too tired to deal with it herself. Not because he loved her (though that was very true), but because he refused to see her demeaned that way. Or anyone else.

A guard had been following him for ten minutes, making all sorts of unwanted comments. Kanan had been ignoring him, focused on his datapad while discretely noting layouts, compared to schematics, and how power conduits lead to a likely command area which would be ideal for using a wand to deactivate slave chips. And other security as well.

The guard finally gave an exasperated sigh. "Look, Green Eyes, you're nice on the eyes. I'm just paying a compliment. No need to be so rude."

Kanan kept walking.

A hand reached out, grabbing him by the belt and pulling him in close. The guard was twice as thick as Kanan and easily weighed half again as much. Hot, smelly breath snaked down his neck, and a tongue flicked out to taste.

Kanan was about ready to get violent. "My Lady will not care for others handling her property," he said softly.

"You tell her and you'll die," the guard said, reaching around Kanan to unbuckle his belt. He reached down swiftly and grabbed the hand, stopping it. Another hand instead went down to cup other parts of him.

"My Lady will know," Kanan said. "She does not care for others handling her property."

"Any goods left lying around are free for others to take." Teeth scraped against his shoulder. "Now be nice, Green Eyes. You must not mind some caring attention. I promise to be nicer than whatever that bitch has you do. You don't mind being loved for a change, right?"

"My Lady has ensured that no others may have me," Kanan tried to be pragmatic, even as he dropped his datapad and used both of his hands to pull away the groper's wanderings.

"Given how much I've felt, I very much doubt that."

"I wish no trouble. Merely leave me be; my Lady is expecting results."

"My _needs_ are more immediate."

Kanan let out a long, heavy sigh. "If you do not leave, you will leave me no choice. I must follow my Lady's wishes."

A hot wet kiss encased the shell of his ear.

Right. Screw diplomacy, violence it was.

Despite the clear difference in weight that left Kanan at a distinct disadvantage, this guard didn't have Kanan's training. He may have forsaken the Force, but the muscle memory of all the various forms and kata he had learned were so ingrained that he could do them in his sleep, _had_ done them in his sleep. In his various careers wandering the galaxy and staying hidden, those skills had come in handy in keeping him alive, and ensured that he was still strong and fit enough to fight back.

It was easy to kick out an ankle of his attacker, throwing the guard off balance, easy to use gravity and momentum to throw the attacker over his shoulder to land hard on durasteel construction, easy to put his bare foot on the guard's throat to quiet the protest. Kanan shifted his weight, putting more pressure on the throat. One arm was already broken, the other couldn't get the leverage to grab Kanan's ankle enough to throw him off. Not when Kanan was already crushing the windpipe by centimeters.

"My Lady wishes me to be hers and hers alone," Kanan said firmly. "And she has ensured that I will never fall to those such as you."

The guard hissed out curses, and Kanan just sighed, kicking his attacker in the head and sending the creature to meet unconsciousness.

Stars, he needed a drink after that.

And a shower. He _really_ needed a shower.

He shuddered.

Kanan checked the guard's pockets, pocketed a few credits because Force knew they needed any cash they could get. The guard also had a deactivation wand, which Kanan had no problem filching. It would be needed later.

Skin still crawling, Kanan decided he'd done enough with the exploring and noting as he picked up his datapad and decided to do what he'd told Hera he'd do, and headed straight to the slave pens.

It was a different pair of guards, meaning that shift had changed, so Kanan merely bowed his head. "My Lady wishes to look at new merchandise," he said passively.

"Your merchandise looks pretty fine, sweet-cheeks," was the reply.

Shower. Long hot shower. Not a sonic shower, an actual honest-to-Force- _water_ shower. Just to scrub himself clean of all this.

"I am merely doing as my Lady wishes," he repeated.

"We might decide to keep you," the other guard said, eyes roving up and down his body.

 _Argh!_ He was dressed as a mechanic! A barefoot, works in pipes and circuitry mechanic! _Why_ was he getting all this attention?

Kanan said nothing in response, kept his eyes appropriately downcast, and waited.

There was a hiss and the gate opened to the pens and Kanan gave a small bow appropriate for one of a lower position, and headed in. A hand reached out and cupped his backside before slapping him forward with crass laughter trailing after him and the gates shut.

Kanan let out a controlled breath and decided that he would never, _ever_ pretend to be a slave again.

A flash of Hera crossed his mind, dressed in skimpy slave clothing and facing the same beratement and humiliations he'd been facing all day.

Kanan would only _ever_ be a slave to prevent Hera from having to use the disguise.

He walked briskly into the pen, heading back to where Suu and Orgadomo were the last time he was there, mere hours before. Neither were there, but that was no surprise. Slaves in such pens were often on the move, being washed, fed, or exercised so as to provide the best sales. So Kanan sat down and waited, closing his eyes, trying to let go of the disgust and humiliation that still roiled around in his gut. He may have forsaken his heritage, but there were certain rules of it that he understood all too well and still practiced.

 _Let go,_ Master Billaba would say. _Holding on to bad things festesr into worse things. Face the negative. Look at it unblinkingly. Then let it go, because it is over._

It wasn't the best advice. Some things were never over. He still had nightmares, from time to time. But the philosophy held true. He'd seen people in his wandering who held their pain tightly, refusing to let go. They made the worst kind of drunks.

So he tried to let go. He couldn't use the Force, he didn't dare. But he faced it, and acknowledged that he had been sexually assaulted several times this day, would likely be assaulted more, and just let out a breath, taking comfort in the fact that this would all be over soon.

He felt someone sitting in front of him, and he saw Gobi's pink mother with the withered old Suu in front of him.

" _Your daughter is safe,_ " he said immediately. As safe as one can be in this place. But he couldn't get into that, he didn't know enough Twi'leki.

"Our thanks," Suu said, aged face still lovely. "Your return means you have information for us."

He nodded. "My captain has a deactivator wand for the slave chips," he said softly, leaning forward. "We are going to deactivate everyone's chips across the station, all at once. I advice you to be ready. It will occur during the auction tonight. Many of you will be free from the pens and without the chips. Plan accordingly." Kanan turned to Gobi's mother. " _Take your family still here, find a ship called_ Ghost _, we will have Gobi there_." Pink skin quickly turned red as tears welled up in her eyes, and she bowed her head.

"My thanks," she said softly. "My thanks."

Kanan glanced around, discreetly. No guards. He leaned forward, hiding what he was doing under his body, and pulled out the deactivator wand. He aimed it at both Suu and Gobi's mother, before once more hiding the wand and leaning back, making it look like a cough. "The two of you should have free motion. Let everyone know. Wookie, Torgruta, _everyone_."

Suu looked at him with bright eyes. "Worry not. We will not waste this chance."

Kanan nodded and stood. He had to face leers and vulgarity again, just to get back to his room. But that little bit of hope that was now burning with Suu and Gobi's mother... It made the forthcoming gauntlet a bit more bearable.

* * *

Hera had thought about eating privately in their quarters after Kanan had come back and deactivated Gobi's chip, giving her free access of the station for when they set up their diversion. Really, Hera didn't relish leaving their quarters with all the slavers out there and the comments and just _work_ they'd have to do to put up with harassment. But that would be living in fear, and Hera didn't ever remember living in fear and she refused to start now.

She did insist that both Gobi and Kanan clean up before she headed out to what passed as a restaurant on such a terrible health-violation of a station. Kanan was muttering something about hoping there was actual water. Kanan put on a different shirt and pair of pants, both still grungy and meant for the repair work that the _Ghost_ needed, but he cleaned up well. He always did when they were on an op that required any thought of presentation. (Hera refused to admit that it was because Kanan was a good-looking human.) He sat down in front of Hera while Gobi showered, and handed her his brush.

"You want me to brush your hair?" Hera said incredulously.

Kanan grimaced. "I need intimate touch that isn't passionate," he replied.

All at once, Hera understood. Kanan, attractive as he was, had likely been facing wandering hands and harassment all day. It was why he had wanted a water shower. And now he needed hands on him that weren't interested in his supposed job. Something that was done between those who were close, but not necessarily passionate. Many different human cultures had family or friends tend to hair, even if it was something as simple as a parent when the child was too young to do it themselves. Hera suddenly wondered how Jedi children handled their hair. Did they learn early on to groom themselves? How were children raised, outside of the insane amount of education they clearly received?

But she couldn't ask those questions.

Instead, she took a moment to enjoy his soft locks as Gobi had earlier. Brushing his hair seemed to undo some of the tension in his shoulders, and his face was lined with focus. Was he doing something with the Force again? Subconsciously or consciously? She could never tell what was a passive ability and what was one he actively called on.

"How do you want your hair?" she asked.

"Tail," he murmured, still focused on something she couldn't grasp, as he held up the tie he usually used in his hair.

She gave an affirmative hum, and brushed his hair back and up to a tail higher than he usually did. It seemed more noble, and she hoped it would provide at least _some_ level of defense against the next round of harassment he would be facing.

Gobi came out, clean, her violet skin looking more lavender without the filth, and her purple eyes shining. She did not have any other clothes, and had to make do with wearing the dirty smock, but both Kanan and Hera had worked to scrub out the worst of the stains before drying the clothes.

"Well," Hera said, standing, "let's get going."

When they arrived at what passed for a restaurant, Hera saw that her assumptions and research had been correct. It was still about status. Owners were being served by their slaves, making outrageous demands to show both that they could, and the obedience they commanded.

It was disgusting.

But expected.

Hera, of course, stood out. As Thal Tyr had said, she was a free Twi'lek instead of an owned one: eyes naturally drew to her. She used this to her benefit to not "show off" as others all around her were. Kanan, playing his part flawlessly, was bent over with Gobi, providing instructions on Hera's "preferences," such as table with her back to the wall where she could see everything.

 _Good_ , she thought to herself, hiding a smile. Kanan was using his cover to still keep them safe and avoid traps. Gobi nodded and quickly scampered off, claiming a table in a corner that provided a decent view of the establishment. Hera slid in and watched, Kanan in front of both her and the table, placing an order of her preferences to the waiter, and older Togrutan man with a slave collar, making a barrier between her and any after "his Lady," befitting the role he had selected. Particularly when he knew she could take care of herself without any assistance. Hera pulled out her datapad, appearing to be settling in for work, a business dinner, but she kept her ear cones sensitive.

Kanan kept a low stream of instructions to Gobi for anyone passing by, some of it in regards to how to act while Hera ate, doubling as also informing Hera of his plans, since he knew she was listening closely as well.

"My Lady prefers seats with her back to a wall so she may see..."

"My Lady ensures none may ever harm her belongings..."

"My Lady is an object of desire for many and will never listen to demeaning language..."

"Many seek to take my Lady, so we muse ensure her safety..."

"With many wishing to have my Lady, I always test her food..."

Hera's spine stiffened, though she did not show it. Kanan had just thought of something she hadn't. By being in a slaver station, by being a Twi'lek who wasn't broken in, she was facing more danger. Hera held in a sigh. Kanan had dressed the slave to prevent her facing harassment. It seemed the danger was the same but with a different source.

Wine arrived, compliments of the station to a first time visitor. Kanan was showing the bottle to Gobi. "See, the seal is already broken." He pulled the cork and sniffed, then offered it to Gobi as well. "Ever so slightly acidic. This is unsafe." He gave the bottle to the child. "Tell the staff this is not to my Lady's taste and watch what bottle they pull." Pulling out a datapad of his own, he tapped out a list. "Watch them pull the bottle. The seal must remain intact or give it back."

Gobi nodded and scampered off.

"You could have left it untouched," she said softly, not looking up.

"All part of the performance, Captain," he replied, bowing to her. "I'm showing competence and making it clear... you're not an easy mark, and not worth the effort."

"Do that too often and some might see a challenge."

"We won't be here long enough." That was said firmly. She gave the barest of nods. She wanted out of here as well.

Gobi returned with a bottle and Kanan inspected it. Unbroken seal, good. He poured a glass, sniffed and tasted, before nodding and pouring a glass for Hera that he slid across the dirty table cloth. Mmm, one of her favorites.

Hera looked up enough to catch Kanan and Gobi's eye. "We're keeping the bottle," she said imperiously, and returned to her datapad, aware of everything around her.

"Ah, the Twi'lek who owns instead of being owned," greeted Thal Tyr. "My brother and I did not expect to see you here!"

Kanan was already stepping forward. "My Lady does not wish to be disturbed."

"Out of the way, boy. Let the grown-ups talk."

"My Lady will not be disturbed."

Kanan was standing bodily in front of both Weequay when Hera looked up.

"Let them by," she commanded.

Kanan immediately stepped aside, dipping his head. "As you wish, my Lady."

The food arrived and Kanan quickly started instructing Gobi in testing, save that only he tasted any of the food himself, Hera couldn't afford to pay more attention, however, as Tyr took all of her concentration.

"We already agreed to meet later," Hera said sweetly, her eyes cold. "Could it be you _don't_ have the advertised list?"

Tyr gave a charming laugh. "Not at all! It is accurate and worth every credit you are paying. No, my dear Zaluna, I'm here because of something else I can offer."

"I am not your dear," Hera replied coolly, pulling a slice of bread over and putting on jam. "If you cannot address me properly, you are not worth my time."

Tyr laughed heartily, slapping his knee. "You truly _won't_ be owned!" he chuckled. "You intrigue me more and more."

"I don't care about your feelings. You either have what I need or you don't. That is all there is to it."

Tyr leaned forward, linking his fingers together. "Ah, but there _is_ something I can do for you. Outside of our current relationship."

"Business deal," Hera corrected.

Tyr chuckled again. "Business deal."

Hera leaned back with her wine, narrowing her eyes and trying to judge the situation. She may not have the Force nudging her as a Jedi did, but she did have years of experience reading people, whether it was under her father's tutelage or just going out to try and be an activist or especially with her time trying to build a rebellion. Tyr wanted something from her. She could take a very educated guess as to what, which he wouldn't get. But what did he think he could offer?

Kanan had placed a bowl of soup in front of her and she took a sip. "I will listen. I promise nothing else." Her datapad beeped. "Excuse me."

 _They own the station._

She blinked.

 _Little brother is the one interested in you. He "breaks in" merchandise. Older brother does day-to-day business. Disgusting pair._

Apparently Kanan _could_ understand the Weequay's pheremonal communication.

 _Are you sure?_ she tapped back.

 _I may not get every word, but they're hardly subtle_.

Right. Hera set aside her datapad and looked to the Weequay again. "I will listen," she repeated. "I promise nothing else."

Tyr smiled, reaching out to take her hand, but Gobi snatched it away.

The younger Weequay opened his mouth, likely to reprimand her, but Hera cut in before he could. "Very good," she gave a warm smile to the lavender Twi'lek. "You are a fast learner. Good anticipation." She gestured the child over and rubbed her head affectionately. "Next time, a polite word of my wishes."

"Yes, my Lady," Gobi said softly. "I learn quick."

Hera nodded encouragingly. "Back to work."

"Yes, my Lady."

Tyr smiled, still the same smug smile. "I have heard you were interested in your own kind as a piece of property."

"Who better to teach them," Hera replied nonchalantly, finishing her bowl of soup. Kanan passed forward a meat pie, a tiny slice removed from when he had tasted it. "You have not offered anything."

"Ah, one such as you must appreciate the buildup," Tyr crooned.

"You bore me," she replied. She caught Kanan's eye as he was tasting another dish and setting it aside. "Remove them," she ordered.

"As my Lady wishes," Kanan replied, a delighted glint buried in his green eyes. He stepped forward, hands reaching out for each shoulder.

"I can get you your Twi'lek girl," Tyr said, smug smiles and levity gone. His little brother remained silent. Hera raised a hand, and Kanan paused, his face saying everything she was feeling from behind the Weequay where they couldn't see.

"Clarify."

Tyr's smile was back. "I happen to know the owner of this fine establishment."

"Of this filthy restaurant meant for debauchery and lacking any kind of class?"

Tyr roared with laughter. "Oh, you are funny. No, the owner of this station. I might be able to make her purchase easier."

Ah, so that was why Gobi's price was so high. Tyr wanted to make her pay more or come to him. He would win either way. Well, Hera wouldn't give him that satisfaction. "I see," she said, eating another forkful of her meat pie. "And what, pray tell, are you asking for in exchange?"

"Time with you, of course," Tyr smiled brightly.

"Well," Hera said, looking back to her datapad. "You've just spent time with me. I'll expect the price to be cut by three quarters and posted within the hour."

Both Weequay brothers choked on their respective drinks. "Zaluna," Try gasped, "that is _not_ what I-"

"Your specific words were that you wanted to 'spend time with me' in exchange for lowering the price," she said airly, still looking at her datapad and glancing at the chrono. "You've been here for a half hour. I think that qualifies as time."

"That _hardly_ qualifies as-"

"You didn't specify an amount of time."

There was a pause.

Then Tyr was roaring with laughter again. "Hoisted by my own petard!"

Hera glanced at her chrono again. "The price should be dropped by eighty percent now."

Her datapad beeped.

 _Careful. Baby brother's getting angry. Might try something desperate._

Tyr was looking at her with fresh eyes, but his damnable smile was still there. "You are indeed a cunning business woman," he conceded. "Let's hammer this out more firmly-"

To this Hera let out a condescending laugh. "No, let's put all our sabaac cards on the table," Hera said, leaning back and sliding her datapad aside. "You own the station. Your brother runs the merchandise. You're both Weequay, which means your already communicating while your talking with me. Any thing we agree on here will be forfeit as you find ways around it while we're still discussing them. You've only raised the price to try and gain me as an asset. That will not happen. I am a businesswoman with substantial connections. I'd be happy to know that your little station doesn't maintain the standard codes and follows the whims of the owner and is not to be trusted. It won't take much for your sales to drop to non-existent. You will sell me that slave at a reasonable price, as expected. Then we will meet at the auction for the _actual_ reason we are here."

"My Lady," Kanan leaned in. "You are due for your next call in ten minutes."

Perfect excuse to leave. Hera nodded and stood. "Either that price goes back to reasonable and you still make the typical profit you would make in any ordinary sale, or I will not meet you at the auction and the far more lucrative sale will be gone out the airlock."

She walked off, Kanan and Gobi falling into line behind her, Kanan perfectly three steps behind her at her shoulder, Gobi trying to keep up with his much longer strides.

* * *

Gobi was, as granna Suu had described, watchful and intelligent. She knew just enough Basic to follow the gist of conversations, and it was through watching Souple talk to granna Suu and Orgadomo that she realized an opportunity was presenting itself. She had to take it, for both Mom and granna Suu.

Both the Twi'lek and the human were very careful about names. The Twi'lek was either " _my Lady_ ," which was the obvious fake name, or " _captain_ ," which Gobi knew meant she was the captain of a ship. That was exciting, and made her think that hope might be more than just an idea. The human was harder to tell, if his name came up it was a collection of syllables she didn't recognize as a name. She asked Captain about it, but she explained that there were a lot of cameras and that was why they were being careful. Gobi called him Souple, after all that fur on his head and chin, and did as she was instructed.

The plan was to act like a master and two slaves until the auction; Captain was going to get something important there, and after, Souple would disappear with his wand to turn off all the slave chips, and everyone would be free. Captain was very good about explaining the expectations, and Souple was very good at, well, _everything_. He was tall and handsome by human standards, his fur was very soft, his voice changed from soft and reassuring to polite and commanding, and it wasn't a stretch to hear him be intense or authoritative. In their room, he was laid back and gave Gobi space, or he was understanding and kind when he allowed her to touch his fur.

What was really impressive, however, was watching them at dinner. The two of them never broke character, but the two seemed to naturally understand each other with glances or postures. Souple spoke slowly and carefully for Gobi to understand his Basic, and at the same time passed on information to Captain who somehow always gave an acknowledgement. Gobi learned about drugging food and that Souple was very careful about smell while Captain never let anyone – especially the two Weequay – touch her. They were a marvel to watch.

Now, though, something was different. Over the course of dinner, Souple had tasted and turned away three different dishes, and Gobi watched as he seemed to slow down – like talking required thought to string words together. His very careful annunciation in Basic started to slur, and as they walked back to their quarters his steps were less sure, more careful.

" _We need..._ " he started to say, but then he trailed off, frowning heavily, searching for words.

" _What's wrong?_ " Captain asked.

" _Cameras..._ "

Captian frowned; Gobi saw a twitch in her lekku that meant anxiety, and she put a hand on her partner's shoulder. " _We already checked for cameras_ ," she said, and Gobi watched as Souple gave a slow-motion nod.

" _I know... again..._ "

Captain turned immediately to Gobi and switched to their native tongue. "How much food did he turn away?" she demanded, voice rushed and intense.

"Three things he tasted and said 'no' to."

A bitter Basic curse Gobi wasn't supposed to know, and she grabbed Souple's shoulders, which cause the human's eyes to double in size and gasp. "Get him on the bunk," she ordered, moving around him and to the door, pressing at the panel an using another Basic curse. "Things are about to go south," she explained quickly. "Even odds on whether they were trying to drug me or him – but either way they're expecting him down for the count and us to be easy marks. Okay, I've locked the door but they'll probably override it."

Captain pulled out a blaster and held it at the ready. Gobi had never seen another Twi'lek armed with a blaster before. Captain said a string of things in Basic, most of them curses, and knelt by the table with checker designs on it. "Move!" she ordered, and Gobi realized she hadn't yet put Souple to bed.

Remembering his gasp earlier, Gobi touched his bare arm softly, felt minuscule muscles tensing, repeatedly, and his skin was moist with sweat. She guided him to the bunk and, once he was low enough, she saw that his eyes were moving back and forth at random, blind to the world but seeing something vivid.

"Will he be okay?" Gobi asked.

"We'll worry about that after we survive the next hour," Captain hissed. She got up again as a thought occurred to her and turned the lights off, plunging the space into darkness. "Hide," she said, and Gobi had no place else to go but to climb onto the bunk with Souple and hide behind his large frame. Then came the waiting.

With no other distractions, sound became the only stimulus. Souple's breath was soft and shallow, sharing his nose and mouth, while Captain was absolutely silent, even a few feet away. The hum of the vents and the persistent hiss of a broken... something... filled Gobi's ear cones with a high pitch of annoyance.

Then came footsteps; low and heavy and so threatening Gobi held her breath and buried her head into Souple's shoulder. The steps passed, though, growing distant and accompanied by a laugh. Not trouble then.

The waiting began again and Gobi tried to tune out the sound by smelling Souple's sweat; he was soaked in it now and his entire frame was consumed with silent tremors. She wanted to ask Captain what would happen, but she didn't dare speak.

More footsteps, this time a lot, and there was a lightness about them that made them feel more ominous. They stopped right outside the door, and Gobi covered her mouth because now she was going to scream.

" _Master..._ "

Gobi's eyes snapped to Souple (he really _had_ been a slave?!) but the door hissed open and Captain fired immediately. The energy bolts were a reddish orange, flashes that blinded Gobi's dilated eyes and made her scream into her hands.

* * *

Hera was livid.

Bad enough her contact decided to meet at a kriffing slave station, bad enough she had to play at being a slave owner, bad enough everyone thought Kanan was a pleasure slave – oh no. _Now_ someone had drugged the Jedi to attack them.

Why? Pick the reason: the Weequay to get Hera to the younger brother for "taming." Some creepy admirer after Kanan for his services. Get all three of them with the slave chips. Someone found out their plan to disable the chips because they missed something. Space, maybe it was the kriffing Empire; Hera wouldn't consider that a stretch at this rate. All she really cared about was _getting this over with_.

She was never using the holonet again after this.

And it was all Kanan's fault.

If he hadn't decided to play dress up and pretend to be a slave they could have come in as equals and done the deal without all of this extra headache and firefights.

She fired again, there were three silhouettes from outside, but the footsteps suggested at least five. Five to one odds weren't great but she had the advantage of shadows and silhouettes. The assailants were also severely underestimating _her_.

The second assailant – Zabrack by the silhouette, grunted and went down, and Hera could hear the other two muttering back and forth, trying to figure out what to do.

"Leave now," she called out, "before the two of us do more damage." It was a bluff to say Kanan was all right, but these opportunists weren't necessarily intelligent enough to know that and Hera had an increasingly low opinion of the beings on this crate.

"I'm not letting some uppity tailhead ruin my fun!" was a reply, heavily garbled through what sounded like a broken nose. "Unless you want in on the action!"

"Not in the seven Corellian Hells," Hera muttered under her breath, taking aim and firing again. The third went down and she heard the fourth run. She darted to the door and risked sticking her head out, left then right, just in time to see someone – she couldn't tell the species – turn a corner. Great, a loose end. She was going to kill Kanan for this idea.

Kanan!

She turned around and reentered the quarters, palming the door closed to see it couldn't because of the bodies. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed them and dragged them in and tied them up with some loose wires. Interrogation would come later. Gobi was only just daring to poke her head up from behind Kanan, dark purple eyes double their normal size against her lavender skin; her complexion was pale with fear, and her hands were on her mouth.

" _It's okay,_ " Hera said in her native tongue. " _It's been taken care of._ "

She sat up carefully, eying the three bodies on the floor; if possible her eyes widened even more, and she crawled over Kanan to examine the captives. Hera let her explore for now, crouching by the human and examining him. The full length of his body was wracked with tremors, every part of him shaking, and his frame was covered in sweat, his skin clammy. He heart rate was up, he was fighting whatever was happening to him, and his breath came in shallow, slightly ragged bursts. His eyes were hauntingly open, staring at nothing, roving around unseeing. She pulled out her comm and was about to say something when she remembered Kanan's muddled, slurred wish to check for more cameras. The three of them hadn't been in the quarters for dinner, and with the welcoming party that meant that other visitors might have arrived as well to rewire the room. Growling, she stood and started looking at the original locations of the cameras, and then spreading her gaze elsewhere, remembering what Zaluna had taught them and making sure the room was still free of bugs. Gobi, uncertain what Hera was doing, watched.

Kanan's fears had been correct, three new devices had been added, and Hera removed them quickly and smashed them with the butt of her blaster. Satisfied, she opened the comm. "Specter Three," she said, "We have a problem."

Chopper warbled on the comm, crass but not insulting – whatever Kanan's opinion of the droid the C1 had never been insulting to Hera herself.

"Specter One is down because of an unknown drug, I need you to look up the most common – and probably cheapest – form of drug slavers use on their merchandise and send me the specs and how to treat it. I'll give you a list of his symptoms to narrow the search."

Gobi was watching again, and when Hera was done she turned to study the young Twi'lek. She pointed a lavender finger to the Zabrak with the broken nose. " _He's a watcher_ ," she said. " _He said something bad, and Souple hurt his nose._ " She pointed to the others, humans both. " _They are takers._ "

Hera shuddered, feeling unclean just being in their presence. Waste of water or not, _both_ of them were taking water showers on the _Ghost_ after this. Kanan was still trembling on the bed, breathing shakily, and Hera had to decide what to do. Interrogation would go better with a Jedi to truth read, but she had no idea how long he would be out of commission, and the thought of these... _beings_ coming in deliberately when Kanan was helpless to perform lascivious acts was sickening. She was burning with anger – she was more than used to threats like this to herself. She was a Twi'lek in a galaxy that saw her species as pleasure property. She hadn't realized the universe was base enough to have the same threats to a human male, someone who was so strong and capable, who was a _Jedi_. Was anyone safe?

Her heart fluttered, and her resolve hardened even further. This was why she did what she did, and she promised herself that her work would make things better. She grabbed a glass and poured some water from the station, rusty with worn and poorly maintained pipes. Hera handed her blaster to Gobi. " _Hold it like this_ ," she said, gentle as she watched the young teen process what was about to be asked of her. " _Do not use it, just glare over the barrel at them. Look like you want to shoot them._ " Gobi looked up at her with terrified eyes, but the girl was bright, and she sniffed and hardened her face. The change was so fast that Hera somehow understood that it was her real face, her real feelings to the people Hera was about to interrogate. A piece of her heart broke to see a child so young wear that face. She splashed it on the Zabrak first. He was a watcher, passive; he wouldn't be used to being the watched instead. Better to make him uncomfortable.

He sputtered and looked up right to the barrel of Hera's blaster, staring dumbly before he realized an armed slave was looking ready to kill him.

Hera smiled, sweet and polite and colder than space. "I have some questions," she said, voice deceptively light. "If I don't like the answers, my pet over there pulls the trigger. I might make her pull the trigger anyway, because you disgust me. Are we clear?"

The Zabrak nodded violently, a pathetic noise in his throat.

"Was it you that poisoned the food?"

A shake of the head.

"Do you know who did?"

A pause, a frown, and a complicated shake of the head.

"You have suspicions," Hera said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. "Who?"

"More like who didn't?" he said, voice terrible through the broken nose. "He's a pretty bit of flesh, and there's a lot of us who like breaking specimens like him; he'd fetch a high price with his literacy and manners, and he just looks _great_ to stuff."

Hera snarled at the vulgar language, and Gobi dutifully pressed the blaster closer to the Zabrak's head, drawing all of his focus and making another whimper. "Sorry, sorry! The bosses, too! They both want you, because you're so independent. Same... same reasons. They made the little-"

"Don't demean her," Hera said quickly.

"They made her real expensive to try and trick you, but word is you wouldn't have it. And _he_ got in their way. Boys and I were going to have a quick bit of fun, knew you'd be out for a day, wanted to get first dibs before you were dragged to the pens. Please! Get the blaster out of my face!"

"I see," Hera said, cold and calculating. That changed a lot of the plan. It was obvious now the Weequay brothers weren't going to just hand over the list, likely didn't even have a full list and was just luring her to capture her. She still wanted to take anything they had, and now she had no intention of paying them. The auction was another trap, there was no doubt to that now. Kanan was out of action and for who knew how long. Hera couldn't mine the data and disrupt the slave chip central hub with her wand at the same time. She was back to the question Kanan had posed to her: which was her priority. Maybe she _couldn't_ have it both ways after all...

… No. She would do something right in this galaxy. There was the long-term plan, yes; but it would be meaningless without smaller acts like this. She couldn't do it by herself, and the risks were bigger without a Jedi, but she wasn't _alone_.

Decision made, she got up and took a deep breath, making a fist and slamming it into the Zabrack's jaw, adding another break to his face and sending him careening to the floor in pain. She took the blaster from Gobi and palmed open the door, eyes hard. Adrenaline made her voice sharp as she saw a Wookie walking from one place to another. "You!" she demanded. "I need your help, come in here."

The Wookie, helpless to do otherwise, followed her into the quarters and stared at the wreck of a room, the tied up molesters, and two Twi'lek and an unconscious human. Hera shut the door long enough to pull out her wand and wave it around the Wookie's body, listening for the telltale click of the wand notifying her of the chip deactivating. The Wookie made a startled noise. "What's your name?"

A long, low warble of an answer.

"Yarua," Hera said, practicing the name in her mouth. She nodded when she was comfortable with it. "You're free now," she said; "I need your help."

Yarua nodded emphatically, a long string of growls and calls of his native language starting to build in his mouth. Hera held up a hand. "I know," she said quickly, "We were planning to help everyone here be free, don't worry about that. But things have changed rapidly and I need to get him," she pointed to Kanan, "somewhere safe. Can you carry him?"

The Wookie nodded, stepping over the bodies and picking up the human. Kanan was limp in the tall creature's arms, utterly helpless, and Hera felt sick again at seeing him like this. She pulled out her comm. "Specter Three, we're coming in. Be ready to lock down the ship once we're there."

She exited the quarters, lavender Gobi and earthy Yarua in tow, and she marched imperiously down the halls, blaster openly in her hand and ready to shoot the entire station if anyone dared get in the way of her and the _Ghost_. She traced her way back to the spaceport, over the catwalks that monitored the pens, and from above she could feel everyone watching as the Twi'lek lead her damaged human back to her ship. She could hear jeers and curses, and she forced herself to ignore the vulgarity, reminding herself that it was probably an act because Kanan had already talked to the Twi'lek, and her people were always the first to spread good news. The guards and overseers took one look at her and stepped aside, and the two that didn't got a blaster pointed right at their heads, Hera aggressively zooming in until they were inches from falling over. She didn't stop to push, however, and moved forward. That Yarua growled bloody murder every time helped; even carrying a prone human a Wookie was an intimidating sight, and Hera didn't feel particularly sorry.

Chopper was at the ramp of the _Ghost_ , manipulators out and flailing, dome spinning repeatedly. Hera marched up and was closing the door before Gobi and Yarua were completely off the ramp. "Lock down the ship," Hera told her droid. "Don't let anyone in and fire the nose gun if somebody is dumb enough to try."

Chopper blurped an affirmative, tacking on a malevolent cackle at the thought and turning to jack into the ship's systems. Hera levitated one of the crates in the hold and slid it away, making room for Yarua to lay down Kanan. The human was still shaking, eyes open and unseeing, and Hera reached out to close them, to spare herself and the others that one horrific part of this nightmare.

Kanan reached up with a clumsy hand, trying to catch Hera's. She was surprised to realize he was cognizant of the world around him, and she leaned forward, wondering what she would see in his roving eyes. "Kanan?" she asked.

"I... I think... they... drugged me..." It must have taken him two minutes to churn out the sentence, but Hera found herself smiling softly.

"We noticed," she said gently.

"Body's... fassster... Force..."

Hera put a finger to his lips, stopping him from trying to think out his next sentence. "You can tell us later," she said. A shudder ran through his body, head to toe, his clothes were warmly damp with his sweat. Gobi and Yarua looked on, uncertain what to do. Hera wasn't completely sure either, but she wasn't going to let this op go pear-shaped. Kanan drifted off again, tremors getting stronger, and she realized she couldn't leave him alone. She pursed her lips, looking to her two charges. Chopper arrived, rolling up and over Kanan's fingers to tell her of his success. Okay. She could do this. Just because she'd had the best partner of her life for a year didn't mean she didn't know how to do this herself.

She spoke slowly, eying Gobi to make sure she understood. "I'm going need your help for a little longer," she said, hating herself. They had been through enough, they didn't deserve to be put in the line of fire, but Hera didn't have enough of a crew for this, and she would sacrifice a lot to get that list and free these slaves. "I will go to the station's owners and distract them." Before the auction, when they were secure in the knowledge that Kanan was down for the count and she was helpless and waiting to be broken in. Preferably in their quarters where she could chain them to the floor with their sick toys.

"Chopper, while I'm doing that you'll have to sneak into the transmission hub and insert this wand," she pulled out the device and put it in one of the droid's manipulators, "and disable the slave chips of the entire station. Once that's done, send a signal to the slave pens that they're free, and turn off all tractor beams."

Chopper's manipulator took the wand and put it in one of his body compartments, warbling a series of complaints before agreeing.

"You two," Hera said, "Stay here and keep an eye on Kanan. He's been through enough."

" _But..._ " Gobi started to say.

Hera shook her head, smiling gently and putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. " _You've done enough,_ " she said. " _I want to keep you safe until your mother gets here._ "

She turned to the dark-furred Wookie. "I have to get changed for this," she said. Orange flight slacks and light armor would stand out too much. She needed darker attire for the sneaking she was about to do. "Let me know if there are any changes."

Yarua nodded.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Yeah. We mentioned that Kanan was going to face what a lot of women put up with in an all-at-once kinda way. Just to be clear: The US Department of Justice defines sexual assault as sexual contact or behavior that hasn't been explicitly permitted. Yes, this includes fondling. A lot of people seem to think sexual assault is pretty much rape or attempted rape. Yes, being groped when you don't want it is also sexual assault. The harassment is more the constant following and unwanted speech that barrages Kanan. And yes, women who are dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the most unsexy attire, will face harassment, the same way Kanan dressed as a mechanic does because assumptions are being made. Just wanted to be clear on this.

Ahem.

Anyway, Kanan's initial bid to try and spare Hera of dealing with everything he's putting up with is going spectacularly well. Obviously. For what it's worth, the plan is coming together, but it just keeps needing alteration. One wonders if this will be a pattern for Kanan and Hera over the years. ^_^ Hehehehe.

Also, Hera kicks ass. Granted, in this chapter it had more to do with words, but she's still completely p0wning the situation. That's just what she does because she's awesome. Yet Hera is facing a conflict. She's seeing a problem right in front of her that is particular to her and all Twi'leks, but she doesn't quite realize how much it's interfering with her rebellion-building. She wants to have her cake and eat it to, which is understandable, but it does pull and strain. Kanan's been trying to point it out to her, but she's just not seeing it. Slavery is a terrible, awful, horrendous thing. It needs to be stopped, but Kanan's thinking more long term, knowing that it will take many and their little rebellion would be a better option for it while Hera just sees short term (a rarity for her) because the slave station is _right there_. It's why they're butting heads.

Oh, and Chopper. While he'll have a bit in the next chapter, it's hard to figure out what to do with him/how to write him. He's such an integral part of the cast of Rebels, but he's not easy to pin down other than "grumpy". This isn't to say that we don't have lots of fun with him. ^_^

Next week, finale.


	3. Part 3

**Part Three**

Chopper was grumpy. That was his primary logistical setting, of course. Despite CaptainHeraSyndulla's best efforts, being shot down in a Y-wing and exploding in a fireball over Ryloth and being forced to settle for whatever spare or half-broken parts CaptainHeraSyndulla could manage to find would ruin anyone's logic circuits. Things never went his way, and so he had little intention of making life easy for anyone except CaptainHeraSyndulla – the only being in the galaxy who looked after him. Anybody else on the _Ghost_ was an annoyance at best.

KananJarrus entering the equation had ruined everything, because the silly little human kept stealing his Twi'lek's primary function of Chopper's and the ship's maintenance. No amount of subtle hints would drive the stupid human away – not bumping into it, not cursing at it in binary or hexadecimal, not manipulating the temperature on the ship, no even accidentally shoving it off the edge of the ship. The human didn't even have the decency to react normally, it didn't attack him or curse back or allow Chopper to put it in a compromising position. At best it would turn to CaptainHeraSyndulla and ask, "Is this normal?"

CaptainHeraSyndulla always came to Chopper's defense, as she was designed to do, but now there was a new subroutine – talking to Chopper about being nice to KananJarrus. As it if deserved anything other than the droid's contempt. Chopper created several new subroutines to make life even _worse_ for the stinky little human, and even tried to zap it from time to time; but the astromech's logic circuits were strained severely when he realized he couldn't zap the human. It had a preternatural ability to know when pain was incoming and just... not be there.

Finally, after nearly six months of trying to get rid of the stray human, it came over to Chopper in the loading bay and sat in front of him. Chopper cursed at it vehemently, manipulators out and ready for a fight, and KananJarrus raised two hands in supplication. "Whoa, whoa," it said, "I just want to talk."

Chopper had hurled more profanity.

"Geez, look, I get it," KananJarrus said. "You've been Hera's for a long time-"

The cheek! CaptainHeraSyndulla had been _his_ for a long time, not the other way around! Chopper corrected the error message immediately, pulling out his arc welder to drive the point home, but the human quickly backpedaled.

"Okay, okay! She's been yours for a long time, and now she's not as devoted to you as she should be; I understand, okay? A lot of..." it paused, facial output changing rapidly, before continuing its text scrawl. "A lot of us had astromech partners when I was a kid, okay? You guys are reliable and dependable in a fight and great at doing your jobs. I just..." Chopper turned off the arc welder, awaiting new input.

KananJarrus sighed. "Look, when's your next oil bath? Send me a reminder and I'll see if I can get rid of some of the scoring or something."

…

Chopper cursed at it some more, this time in fractal, and rolled away.

He fixed his subroutines though, when he learned the silly human had a knack for buffing carbon scoring. He had shined for a full hour after that bath, and KananJarrus became... a part of the programing. It was still a stupid human, though.

Seeing it tremble on the floor of the bay was unsettling, and Chopper rolled over its fingers to try and break the infinite loop it was in, but to no avail. CaptainHeraSyndulla gave her orders and that meant Chopper would have to leave the ship. Those subroutines were much more complicated to run and annoying to parse when things got particularly complicated, but with the semi-useful servant out of commission the astromech was forced to do things himself. Humans were so _useless_. He bumped into the human and threw a few more curses at it before rolling over to the two new annoyances on the ship. Neither of them knew binary or hexadecimal, making them useless, and Chopper rolled over to the data jack to program in the new subroutines.

(IF (KananJarrusHeartRate = HumanMaleHeartThreshold) OR (KananJarrusTemperature = HumanMaleTemperatureThreshold) THEN (Alert (CaptainHeraSyndullaComm, C1-10PComm)); (While (Location(CaptainHeraSyndulla, C1-10P) != Ghost) Security = LockDown AND Surveillance = Maximum)

Most of the subroutines would take care of themselves. The Wookie and Twi'lek were unknown variables, and Chopper rolled over and gave them very explicit instructions, a long whistle of warbles and subwoofs that made his point very clear even if they didn't understand binary, or hexadecimal, or fractal. Chopper found with experience that lower life forms worked best when they knew who was boss.

"Chopper," CaptainHeraSyndulla said, "That's enough. Let's go." She was in darker clothes, goggles down, and some of the less worn armor plated around her arms. Chopper output his affirmative and input a last minute command to the ship before lowering the hangar door. The two exited the ship and the _Ghost_ entered lockdown.

CaptainHeraSyndulla uploaded the space station's schematics to Chopper's RAM and asked if he still had the wand. He did and was irritated that she had even asked, spinning his dome and articulating his manipulators to make his point.

"Okay, okay," CaptainHeraSyndulla said. "I trust you." Her facial output shifted, becoming more serious, lekku subroutines expressing anxiety. "Chopper," she said, touching his dome and rubbing it with affection. "Be careful. I don't want to lose you, too."

… a long, soft warble exited Choppers voicebox, and he wiggled on his mag-locks to reciprocate the output. CaptainHeraSyndulla smiled and nodded, and the pair split up to do their tasks.

Nobody even blinked as Chopper wandered the station, just another droid off to do something. A couple of the other droids paused on seeing him, but he ignored them. Most doors opened to him, and those that didn't he sliced with relative ease. The systems here were _ancient_ , even older than him, and some of them hadn't been updated in decades. The slices were easier in that regard, but talking to the systems was sometimes downright _arduous_ , and Chopper had to write a program just to interpret some of the broken binary. As he rolled closer to the transmission hub more HumanMale and ZabrakMale were in the halls, armed, and all just as stupid as most of their species, ignoring the droid.

Chopper entered a lift and input his coordinates as two WeequayMale entered with a Thing. The Thing was massive, heavy, and an arm was clearly broken, but Chopper didn't have the species in the database, let alone the ability to designate gender.

"-His nose _and_ his jaw. That's impressive."

"There's no way the human did it. There must have been four different sedatives in all that food, all of them strong enough to take down grown banthas. It _must_ have been the Twi'lek."

"All the more reason to be careful."

"I don't want to be _careful_ I want to have her sucking on my-"

"No. Not until we have a chip in her. She won't bow until her life is on the line. She'll be suspicious now, I'm surprised she hasn't left yet. She must need that list very badly."

"If she shows up at the auction, we surround her and drug her and get a chip in as fast as possible."

"And if she doesn't show?"

"Tractor beam will keep them here. Our firepower dwarfs theirs."

WeequayMaleOlder and WeequayMaleYounger kept talking with Thing acting as broken guard, and Chopper warbled low on his soundbox, manipulators out and head spinning slowly. His logic circuits told him to shock the pair and be done with it, but CaptainHeraSyndulla's instructions were clear, and there was a small infinite loop before the C1 droid could make a decision. CaptainHeraSyndulla's current parameters were set to deal with the two Weequay and the list that had brought them to the station in the first place. So Chopper activated C1-10PComm to CaptainHeraSyndullaComm and displayed the whereabouts of the two Weequay. He had his own parameters to fulfill and subroutines to execute. CaptainHeraSyndulla was more than capable of handling these idiotic organics.

The lift dinged and Chopper trundled off and quickly hooked into a datajack. The lift he had been on stalled and he updated CaptainHeraSyndulla.

" _Good work, Specter Three. I'm on my way._ "

Chopper chuckled, knowing the Weequay and the Thing were doomed. Then he headed back to his current objective.

Based off the schematics the communications center of the entire station was down the hall, but Chopper wasn't expecting find the TransmissionHub to be so easy. This station was ancient, overhauled, and made absolutely no sense for efficiency. Still, Chopper rolled along, because what he'd seen in the station's computers indicated the TransmissionHub was still the TransmissionHub. Things just never went that smoothly.

More guards were posted, on this level, indicating that Chopper was at least close to _something_. So Chopper plugged into a datajack to get more information. The translator he'd written sputtered through the broken and rewritten binary, and a rare thing happened for Chopper. He got a pleasant surprise. The TransmissionHub _was_ indeed on this level like it was supposed to be.

Then reality dropped the other strut, and Chopper learned that someone had reported the stolen deactivator wand and someone had at least a functioning processor and had posted more guards by the TransmissionHub. How the idiots thought a slave with a wand would be able to get to the TransmissionHub was beyond the scope of Chopper's programming, but he had to deal with it now.

Chopper let out a low and extended grumbling opinion on dealing with such idiots.

This was why CaptainHeraSyndulla was the only organic worthy of his time.

And KananJarrus and the oil bathes he could give.

So Chopper wrote a lovely little virus and infected the systems, showing Imperial law approaching from several vectors, intent on doing a "bust". Panic quickly ensued as the guards were scrambling to the outer extremities of the station to either a) run, or b) defend. Chopper watched from where he was jacked in and after ten minutes, he easily rolled into the TransmissionHub and plugged directly into what he needed. The comms were at least _somewhat_ up to date, so Chopper was able to ignore some of the more choppy subroutines he needed in order to communicate with anything. With his chassey blocking the view, he pulled out the deactivator wand and started rigging it into the TransmissionHub he was using.

The computer didn't care for Chopper's rewriting of code and a quick battle of warbles and beeps ensued, but Chopper's programming was far more diverse, both from his maker, and from Hera's additions over the years. Within an additional five minutes, Chopper's wand started clicking so constantly, that it was vibrating with all the unlocked slave chips it was processing.

Chopper let out a gleeful chuckle. Now for an appropriate sign to the slaves that they were now free. No doubt CaptainHeraSyndulla was expecting a broadcast or something of that sort, but Chopper had a far more direct idea in his processor. Since he had already bent the computer to his will, and the computer had been so rude as to fight back, he overloaded it with a virus of his favorite design.

Still chuckling gleefully, Chopper unplugged, leaned forward onto his front wheel and zoomed off.

Thirty seconds later, the entire TransmissionHub blew up.

 _Hehehehe._

* * *

He came back in pieces.

There were images, fragments of things that sort of made sense and a tangled menagerie of things that didn't make sense: he had a crystal clear picture of his master telling him to run, but he sort of knew that was a long time ago, he could picture tasting food for someone, but he sort of thought that might have been a dream, he could feel burning heat and chill at the same time, and he sort of thought that was a contradiction. He had a song stuck in his head a full volume, all brass and strong chords and upbeat, but he sort of understood that it was _woefully_ inappropriate, but he couldn't explain how, or even what inappropriate even _meant_. Words meant nothing, images might be something but might not. Sensation was all-consuming.

Rational thought was, at best, in bursts. One sentence would string together and then disappear, instinct was pushing him for... _something_... action, motion, vision, Force, but the first real thought he had: _Why are my clothes so drenched?_

More things started to piece together, sounds finally bleeding into his brain, the hum of a ship he knew very well, but the name couldn't come to him. Everything he saw and heard was like through telescoped cotton. Clear and easy to see or hear, but processing all the various stimuli was difficult. Thoughts scattered if anything caught his attention. He had been "with it" for a while – he sort of knew that. What that while was in actual time, he wasn't sure, and "with it" was relative, since he knew he was still unbearably slow. It was almost like watching the world on fast-forward. Everything was happening so fast, and he was still about two or three minutes behind. Or more. He couldn't tell.

 _Ghost_. That was the name. Kanan was on the _Ghost_. He was in his room. He had an IV line.

Those made sense.

Kanan was drugged. That also made sense, and thinking started to get a little clearer.

The Wookie leaning over him to dab a damp cloth across his head did not make sense. Nor did the lavender Twi'lek girl who was hovering around anxiously.

Where was Hera? Chopper?

The Force was also around him and that wasn't helping.

Or rather it was and that was the problem.

Kanan never used the Force. He avoided it, he pushed it aside, he hid from it. To use the Force was a death-sentence. If anyone learned of just what he was... So he never used it. Not voluntarily. But with all his bodily senses muffled and muddled, the Force, which required nothing of the body, _sang_ , welcoming a lost child into its bosom. It flowed and rippled, basked him in its cool warmth, let him see the interconnected web of life that was everywhere and nowhere. The threads called to him, pulled at him, and it took far too much work to ignore them.

Then he shook.

And Kanan was pretty sure it wasn't one of the tremors that wracked his body from whatever drug or drugs was in his system. Something outside of himself. He saw the Wookie and Twi'lek child stumble to catch their balance.

The Force rippled again, and Kanan _saw_.

"Hera..."

He worked his way upward, sitting and gasping at the effort it took.

" _Hera_..."

He ripped out the IV lines, and the Wookie was trying with more strength than Kanan could muster to put him back to his bunk. But Kanan couldn't.

He _couldn't_.

He dodged around, stumbled out of his room, grabbing a blaster on his way, and started running.

" _Hera_!"

* * *

Hera ducked into another hallway, watching as chaos continued to unfold. She had felt the station shake and she had no doubt that Chopper was having fun. Guards were running around with conflicting orders, something about the Empire approaching and the slave revolt. The slave revolt was expected, after all that was the _plan_. Even as she slipped over catwalks above the pens, she could see that the slaves had taken their freedom seriously. The teal Twi'lek with the prominent scar that Kanan had described, Orgadomo, had clearly organized a number of them and were fighting back in a well-organized manner. Many former slaves had acquired blasters and were in a well-dressed line, pushing back the disorganized guards and gaining ground quickly.

The thought of the Empire worried Hera, however. The Emperor _did_ control his media tightly, and a single controlled raid into Huttspace would be perfect to keep some of the louder voices off the Empire's back to prove that they did handle security fiercely, along with preventing any reforms that said they didn't handle things fast enough. What worried Hera was if the Empire was here because they had tracked the list that Tyr and his brother had copied. That meant that it was even _more_ imperative to get that list and blast off as soon as possible. If it was real...

When Hera and Chopper had split up, Chopper had headed to the transmission hub and Hera had decided to head to the auction. It was only an hour away, and there was no doubt that the Tyr brothers would be there, both waiting or her with whatever level of traps they had in mind, and also because they were selling their stock and wanted to oversee it. Then Chopper had commed her that he had trapped two Weequay in a lift and she'd had to backtrack.

Given the time it had taken to find the lift Chopper had mentioned, she didn't think that the Tyr brothers would be there still, but she now had an area to look instead of waiting at the auction.

She had crawled into the lift shaft and, sure enough, the hatch had been opened. Hera had pulled out a cliplight to look around at what disturbed the dust and dirt of the lift shaft that nobody ever saw, let alone cleaned. The tracks showed that the Weequay had climbed up a level, then forced the doors open. And they had someone with them, but Hera didn't know what species had hands that big.

Looking at the schematics again, Hera had concluded that they were heading somewhere other than the auction hall. Either they were going to take control of the station and start organizing the chaos that was unfolding everywhere, _or_ , and Hera smiled to herself if this was the case, they were going to get the list.

So she was ducking in hallways, occasionally going up into vents that she could squeeze into and didn't look electrified. It wasn't easy, ducking around so much, and she would never have been able to manage it if it wasn't for all the panic and conflicting orders going on. Comms seemed to be down, and runners were trying to find _someone_ to communicate with, but orders were conflicting.

She hopped down to the hall, well behind the Weequay and edging to a corner. A Togrutan was there, her clothes making it obvious what her function was, and she sucked in a breath to scream but Hera covered her mouth and ducked into a door frame. "Stay calm," she said gently but firmly. "The slave chips have all been deactivated, you're free." Wide, black eyes of hope. "I'm after the station owners. Can you tell me what's on this level?"

The Togruta nodded fiercely. "This is the training level, they take the girls up here and train them to be pleasure slaves. No one is allowed up here except them or the beast guards, I don't know their species."

"There's talk about an attack by the Empire, why would they come here?"

"Because their secrets are up here," the Togruta said. "The data cores are up here, beyond the training rooms. Every client, every slave, everything they have ever come across they have there to use against others."

Perfect.

Hera's grin was feral. "Get everyone out of here," she said, "I'll take care of the Weequay."

The Togruta disappeared and Hera pulled up the schematics again. These were originally staff quarters, now turned to something seedy, and now that she knew she was looking for a data core she was able to orient herself quickly. Those are the two most likely locations, and they're right next to each other. Good. Hera moved – not down the hall the Weequay had gone, but a different one, slowly filling with flimsily dressed girls – some younger than even Gobi – filing out in confusion and then hope and then desperation, running to the nearest lift and nearly oblivious to the fully clothed Twi'lek that was about to take care of those Weequay _bastards_. Down another hall and a quick right, a left, and then down another hall, Hera judged her location again on her map and stopped at a corner. She adjusted her goggles, pulling them back up to the crown of her head and letting her green eyes soak in the details. Her dark jumpsuit hid her in the shadows, as did her armor – now more than just a breastplate and shoulder pads – and she gave herself a moment to breath before she stepped on silent feet.

The first room she palmed open was dark, only emergency lights. Binders of several types adorned the walls, as did whips and stunners and tasers. Rings were on the ceiling and the floors both for chains, and another Togruta girl was there, this time on what passed for a bunk, Gobi's age; her lekku barely passed her shoulders, and her montral were but tiny stubs. It was the wrong room but Hera entered anyway, eyes roving everywhere, wary of a trap. One shot took care of the chains and the girl looked up in shocked confusion.

"The slave chips are no longer functioning," Hera hissed, looking up to the vents and dragging over a chair to start pulling the ceiling apart. "The slaves are revolting and winning. Run. Find a ship and get out of here. Grab as many slaves as you can. Get to a medcenter and get the chips removed."

The child was still staring, wide-eyed, and Hera stopped what she was doing to look at those large scared eyes that dared to hope. " _Go_ ," she hissed. The fewer around the better. At last, the Togrutan nodded and ran. Hera returned to looking at the vents.

Ah, finally! The datacore was in a room with a main trunk of vents parallel to it. It was a tighter squeeze than Hera would have preferred, but she was able to squish herself into the vent and easily pass through to the ceiling of the room next door. Peeking through the grating, she squinted to see.

It was… not what she expected. The datacore of any area or station was usually behind a hatch of some sort of communication room or server hub, which may be a little cramped, but gave you rows upon rows of data, cubes, chips, whatever file storage had been in style at the time. Since dust was often the enemy of semiconductive material, such data cores were always kept in the dark.

But this…..

The datacore wasn't small and cramped, but _massive_. Easily the size of some sort of command center, shelves of data went from the ceiling where she was down to the floor, easily two stories down, if not three. Catwalks littered the space for easier navigation and the room was absurdly white. White floors, white walls, white shelves, even the various data storages were cast in white. The lights made it so bright that there were almost no shadows, and the core was _littered_ with guards. Hera easily counted six within her sight, and she didn't want to guess how many were hidden among the tall stacks of data.

And, standing above it all, were the Tyr brothers. The older one was shouting into a microphone of some sort, likely not a part of whatever Chopper had done. The younger was pacing in irritation, a whip now hanging from his hands, as well as a blaster at his hip.

Hera frowned. Her darker clothing would be useless once inside all of that white, and she couldn't finesse her way around so many guards. She knew her abilities, and fighting wasn't her strongest asset. Oh, she knew she could handle her own against a couple of opponents, and she was a master of using her environment to her advantage to turn the tables. Anything from a serving tray to words could change the flow of a fight. But those options weren't available to her at the moment. They knew she wouldn't be taken, she couldn't use words, and she wouldn't even be able to get close enough to use something else.

Still…. Hera narrowed her eyes and kept crawling along the vent. The branching offshoot that got her to a better shot was an even snugger fit, but she could still move, which was what mattered. Coming to another grate, she pulled out some clippers and cut aside part of the grating, just enough to stick her blaster through.

The younger Tyr, with the shorter cut jacket was pacing in irritation, his every line vibrating energy that was _begging_ to be released, so full of tension that even Thal, the big brother turned to bark at him, in actual words, to settle down, as he kept trying to organize his own forces across the station that didn't have fully functional comms. The younger brother's pace was set and steady, for all the tension clearly set in every step. But it made the younger Tyr's pattern predictable. So Hera stayed quiet, took her time to aim. Back and forth. Back and forth. And as Hera exhaled, she shot her blaster, the bolt going straight into one of the younger Tyr's eyes, leaving him screaming and writhing on the ground. Hera didn't stick around for much more as she worked her way backwards and back to the trunk of the vents that gave her more maneuvering room. She could hear movement below her, the guards swarming to the Tyr brothers and likely trying to figure out where she was.

But Hera wasn't there any more. She was back in the vent she'd started in and was moving in another direction now. At another piece of grating, she studied the results. The younger Weequay was clearly down, screaming in agony and flailing. Thal, the older Weequay was kneeling by him, and Hera had to wonder if they were speaking through pheromones again. Both were occupied with each other, and surrounded by a tight circle of thick-build guards a mix of races. She counted six but not all of them were the six she had seen before. Another half dozen were circling around under where she had been positioned before, some even trying to climb the datacore to get to the vents.

Well, Hera gave a grim smile. She couldn't have that now, could she?

Rather than just taking one shot, she took several, taking down half of the group surrounding the Tyr brothers, and all the idiots who thought climbing the core and making themselves easier targets was a good idea. That cut the forces in half as she backed away from the grating and headed for another vent. She could hear Thal Tyr shouting orders, but she couldn't make it out in the echoes of the vents over the sounds of her own motion. She found a third grating, and the angle was horrible, but she took a few shots anyway, taking down another two of the guards. Then it was back to crawling.

Hera was just reaching a fourth grating, when there was the sound of blasterfire that wasn't hers and she was surrounded by smoke, squeezing a free hand around her mouth to prevent coughing and then she was falling ,the white almost blinding her, before she landed on a catwalk. Her shoulder was jarred, and sending a constant pulse of pain along her nerves like fire, but she knew it wasn't broken or dislocated, so she could still _move_ , _move_ , _move_!

"Greetings," Thal Tyr called up to her as she quickly ran down the catwalks away from him, get behind a datacore! Change directions! Keep him off balance! "You _are_ a wily one! And I will make _sure_ my brother, if he lives, has as much time with you as he wishes. Then it will be _my_ turn. And that, you won't survive."

Hera, being on a higher level than the guards below, took a risk and jumped to a datacore, scrambling up to the narrow space between the core and the ceiling, hoping the nonexistent shadows there would hid her as she started to shuffle forward. Down below, doors opened, and more guards came pouring in.

Ten. Twenty. _Thirty_.

She started thinking in less than polite language.

"I must thank you for your predictability, however," Tyr continued calling up. "So desperate for a list of data that even the most dire of circumstances happening to you and you still won't leave. I knew you'd come here."

Hera didn't rise to the bait, still shuffling around, trying to keep herself hidden and away from what they were predicting.

"I give you credit. You're shrewd. And you keep your slave well trained and sharp." Thal laughed. "I wonder what training you use to get such loyalty from someone who could so easily overpower you. I doubt your bed is enough. No woman could be enough to hold a man down."

A blasterbolt hit the ceiling right above Hera, and she instinctively rolled, falling off the datacore down to the catwalk below.

The guards were on either side of her, no catwalk below to jump to.

Hera wondered how she was going to survive this.

* * *

Kanan was... well, he wasn't _well_ yet, but he was getting better. His frantic dash out of the _Ghost_ and the two fuzzy blurs had cleared a lot of his brain. His attention finally snapped to an acceptable level with a gasp. He was still in his drenched clothes (needed to ask what he was dunked in later) and shivering as it chilled his body; he still had tremors but they were manageable; and most importantly he had his trusted DL-18 in his hand. The world was fuzzy, it was a blur from the _Ghost_ to... wherever he was, but when he rounded a corner he saw a crowd of humans and Zabraks and the much taller creatures he didn't have a name for, and in the middle of that crowd was _Hera_ , her presence a beacon in the Force, and that was all Kanan _really_ needed to know.

His first shot didn't hit the guy he was aiming for, but it did hit the creep next to him, and three shots later Kanan figured out his aim was worse than an overclocked protocol droid's walk cycle. One of them missed and the other two clipped instead of stunned. His feet had covered the distance, though, and he had been trained in close-quarters combat, and even still half drugged these guys were all _jokes;_ they weren't battalions of droids and hails of heavy artillery, they weren't clones that had betrayed everything, they weren't anything that would _challenge_ him.

Kanan was a fifth of the way through the guards before they really understood they were being assaulted. He ducked under a massive swing and tucked into a tight roll, he was dizzy but his motions weren't his own as he swept his legs out in an impressive split and then twisted, tripping three more sets of legs and giving himself enough momentum to lift up on his hands and then snap back to his feet – long enough to adjust his balance in a hair's breath and kick out, shoving his foot into the chest of a Zabrak and sending him clattering into the guards behind him. Foot still extended he lifted his DL-18 again and fired point blank at a human that sent him skittering over the edge of the catwalk.

He straightened and took a breath. Twelve of somewhere around thirty down. It'd be half again as much if he were in full form.

Then his eyes locked on the Weequays. Passed Hera, passed the gobsmacked guards, at the central terminal of the catwalk.

Kanan swayed slightly on his feet as tremors riddled across his body, but he focused and fired. One Weequay was already writhing on the floor – had that been him? Everything was so blurry... - but the older brother was still standing and Kanan wasn't going to let that travesty be maintained. He marched forward, occasionally ducking under a strike or a measly little blaster bolt, answering to his every instinct without thought or concern. The humans and Zabraks were easy, he'd trained with them both as a youngling, understood their balance and their weaknesses, and _these guys_ didn't have the training that he did – and he wasn't even fully trained!

Four more fell over the catwalks and he had finally made it to Hera, that beautiful Twi'lek was on her feet and firing her blaster, orange bolts connecting where Kanan's aim was not nearly as accurate. He covered her back as the ones he had disabled or tripped started to get back up, and they were back to back, firing their blasters, slowly spinning around and catching everyone, seven more fell over the catwalk and some just crumpled to the ground, and finally some realized the danger they were in and just ran away.

Kanan breathed a sigh of relief. His hand was shaking. His _body_ was shaking, but he could hardly feel it because he was one with the-

 _Kriff_. The Force. The drugs in the food, they had messed with his body chemistry and his sensory perceptions so badly that he had instinctively called on the Force to help him. That was bad, that was _bad_ , and he quickly tried to replay the fuzzy events in his mind. He hadn't levitated anyone, right? He hadn't pushed or anything? He couldn't remember. Kanan tried to clamp down on himself as he realized his mistake, tried to cut off that piece of himself that was to intimately tied to him, to sever the bond and push all the feelings away. The effects of the drugs came back, no longer held off by the Force, and he shivered with both tremors and the cold of wearing wet clothing. He shook his head and swayed, and he turned to look at Hera.

That moment of inattention was all that was needed.

A hand big enough to encase his entire shoulder grabbed him and spun, what must have been a knee barreled into his abdomen and shoving all air out of his lungs. Kanan saw a near-human guard with an arm in a sling – the grabby guy from earlier that day – and as he tried to suck in a breath a punch rattled into his temple, sending him twisting to the ground. Stunned, Kanan struggled to see past the dazzling of his eyes and get recycled air in his lungs at the same time. Everything was white and he couldn't tell if it was from the walls or from the blow to the head.

Presence was looming over him, menacing and painful and ugly. Aw, _kriff_ , so much for helping Hera...

And then he perceived blaster shots, sensed they were over his head, and something warm touched his icy bicep.

Sight returned slowly, and he looked up to see Hera crouching down on one knee, green eyes laced with worry and smoke coming from her Blurgg-1120 in her hand. She had saved him once again, and it somehow struck him as funny, that he kept trying to be helpful to her, useful, and _she_ was the one who always ended up saving him. He smiled and collapsed back to the catwalk, a mess of limbs that didn't respond correctly, and let out a soft laugh. "Big damned hero," he said, and his voice was as blurry as his perception.

Hera had presence of mind to look offended. "Says the man who started this mess," she retorted.

"You still think this is my fault?" he asked, incredulous.

"It was _your_ plan, remember?"

"Which part?" he demanded. "The getting drugged? The surrounded by five squads? The..." he frowned, focus disappearing for a moment before he put himself together. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Central data terminal," Hera said, getting to her feet and offering a hand. Kanan took it and needed more help than he wanted to admit in getting to his feet. He swayed, he felt somewhere between drunk and fevered, and he was so _cold_.

"Who dunked me?" he asked, thoughts scattering before he remembered his previous question. "And why are we in the central data terminal?"

"You weren't dunked," Hera said patiently, walking passed him and calmly stepping over the array of bodies. "You lost five pounds of sweat for all those drugs were doing to you – and how are you even standing? Let alone coherent?"

"Coherent is relative," Kanan said, following the Twi'lek. "I feel like I've been run over by Okidaiah's old bus. Twice."

The two Weequays were dead by the terminal, one bleeding heavily from an eye and the other with a smoking hole in his chest. "Was that me?" Kanan asked, staring at the bodies.

"Only half," Hera replied, pushing a lever and opening up a console. She grabbed her comm. "Specter Three, I'm in a central data terminal, download everything you can and then fry the circuits. We'll see if the list was actually here later. If it's not I'm sure there's other data here we can use."

Kanan made a face. "Not sure if I want to be the one to sift through that."

"We can sell it to Fulcrum," Hera replied. "Might find something useful."

Kanan nodded, but that little motion sent his head swimming. Still drunk. He took a deep breath and tried to focus. "What else did I miss while I was out?"

"Well, internal comms say the Empire is raiding this station, Specter Three took down the transmission hub, and there's a revolt on almost every level. How did you even get up here?"

That caused Kanan to blink, trying to think back through the fuzz. "I don't remember," he said, a little surprised. "The last thing I remember clearly was walking back to the quarters and feeling my body fall apart. There are pieces of things, but..." He shrugged his shoulders. "What now?"

"We get back to the ship," Hera answered. "Tractor beams are down so we just take off. Hopefully Gobi's family is there already and waiting for us." She waved her comm. "Chopper says he's already halfway there."

Kanan nodded, feeling light-headed again and swaying on his feet. He caught himself though, and took a deep breath, centering himself. "Lead the way, Captain."

Hera hopped her way down the catwalk, over all the bodies – some of which were starting to stir, and Kanan followed suit at a significantly slower paced. Beyond the endless expanse of white that was the data core terminal, the halls seemed to plunge to black, Kanan's eyes dilating slowly to compensate for the rapid change. He followed Hera more out of sense than sight, and for a moment everything lurched to the side and he was certain he was going to eject everything he had eaten for the last month. He stumbled, banging his knees against the floor but was able to scramble back to his feet quickly enough that he didn't lose pace with Hera. The Twi'lek moved expertly through a series of halls, many doors open to reveal what could only be described as perverted sleeping quarters, and Kanan slowly absorbed exactly where he was on the ship. Shower. He needed a _kriffing_ _shower_.

His vision swam again, but his eyes were adjusting to the dimmer light. Alarms were blaring here, a loud wailing sound that was murder to Kanan's head but he just put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the shivers and the wet clothes and following the love of his life. She stopped once, at a lift, and only then did she turn to see if he was still with her – her trust in him strong enough after only a year that she never worried about him having her back. Something about that thought put an absurdly happy grin on his face.

Then his world lurched again, and he just about fell onto her and into the lift. "Sorry," he mumbled, the two syllables slurred. "I feel so _drunk_ right now."

"That wasn't you," Hera said, looking up. "That was the station."

"Great," he quipped, "More good news." Maybe if he just stayed prone for a few minutes the galaxy would stop spinning. Hera was already on her feet, and the angle of her from the floor made him think the world was upside-down. That would only confuse his drugged mind more than it already was, and Kanan forced himself to sit up, not matter how pleasant the view was. No sooner was he upright that everything shuddered again, Hera jerking a hand out to the wall of the lift to steady herself. The lights flickered ominously, and it finally started to dawn on Kanan that there was more going on than getting data from a terminal. What had Hera said earlier? Chopper blowing things up?

"Is this Chopper?" he asked.

"Or the Empire?" Hera wondered.

"Either way, we need to be moving." He pulled himself up to his feet and the change in elevation made everything black out for a second, but it passed almost as quickly. "What level do we get off?"

The lift shuddered again, and the gears fell silent. They had stopped. That answered that.

"Give me a leg up," Hera said, and Kanan offered his body as a ladder. She climbed up his back, one foot on a hip and one knee on his shoulder, reaching over her head and pulling at an access panel. The lights went flickered again, and this time went dark for several seconds before emergency lights clicked on, casting the space in a dull orange. "Got it," she said, and the panel dropped to the floor and she lifted herself up. Kanan steadied himself for a moment before following suit, the dark colors of the shaft hard to make out. "We're not on the level we need," Hera said, looking at the navigation markings on the shaft. "We either need to find another lift or figure out how to get to the docks from here."

"Let's get on a floor and see where we are," Kanan said, half climbing up the shaft to the nearest lift door. His muscles were shaking again, and he fought more shivers as he slowly forced the door open.

Beyond was another hallway, doors replaced with view panels, and each room had the same collection of hoses and brushes. These were the cleaning pens on the old livestock heritage of the station. That meant...

"I know where to go," he said, lifting his DL-18 and firing at the duraplast. Three shots and it shattered, and he swept into the cleaning pen, Hera at his heals. The door into the pen took some jury-rigging, but the two were able to force it open, and they entered a narrow hall. It got bigger and bigger as other halls entered into it, until it was one big herding channel. "This will lead us out to one of the pens," he told Hera, "We can find our way from there."

The station lurched just as they pulled open the gate, and Kanan stumbled enough to walk into a bare-knuckled fist. "Hey!" Hera shouted and he went down almost immediately, and his stomach jumped up into his throat. He rolled to the side as the nausea hit him hard, his vision swam and his entire body tensed in preparation for the havoc that was about to be wrecked. He coughed, a hard, dry noise and he was seconds from triggering something worse when he was finally able to fight it down. Stars above, those drugs were doing a number on his body. Just what had he ingested at that crazy dinner?

He was shaking again as he pulled himself off the floor, and his eyes immediately sought out Hera. She was shouting at a Twi'lek, teal, what was his name... Orgadomo.

"Just what were you thinking?" Hera was saying. "Do you have any idea what he's been through in the last four hours? Who were you expecting to come out of there?"

"I was blocking the escape!" the male Twi'lek said, several spans taller than Hera and his face twisted in a snarl. "He never said the signal was gong to be an _explosion_!"

" _He didn't know_! Look, chatter says the Empire is here, we need to leave, _now!_ Kanan, get up!"

Kanan grunted. "Working on it," he slurred. He'd at least made it to his knees, and he finally got one foot under him and staggered to his feet. "Be real happy when all the drugs are out of my system..." Everything swayed, and he was having trouble telling if it was him or the ship. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath, half-closing his eyes and centering himself. He exhaled, and breathed in again, and found the focus to push on.

The three of them took off at a sprint, Kanan clumsily keeping pace with Hera and Orgadomo taking point. The Twi'lek explained how the impromptu revolt was going but Kanan couldn't focus on that and stay standing at the same time. They moved through the pens and out the doors, three guards either unconscious or dead on the floor. Orgadomo stopped only long enough to pick up a blaster. Emergency lights were fighting with alarm lights, making a red and orange and white swirl of color that was decidedly _not helping_ Kanan keep his stomach in one place, and nausea was coming at him in stronger and stronger waves, but he pushed it down fiercely. He'd wretch once he was on the ship.

They climbed up onto the catwalks and it was a near straight run to the docking bays. Bodies were everywhere, of several species but mostly the human and Zabrak guards. The freed slaves had been vicious in their bid for freedom. The docking bay was filled with more bodies, these ones upright and mobile and fighting bitterly. They'd found the revolt.

Hera cursed. "This plan of yours was _terrible!_ " she shouted.

Not this again. "At least I _had_ a plan!" he shot back. He lifted up his DL-18 with a shaky hand and fired, but missed by feet instead of inches. He growled. "I can't see straight, my aim is _poodoo_."

"You were drugged out of your _mind_ , of course it is! Stop thinking this is the time for a Twenty-Two Pick-Up and just let me handle this!" Hera fired her Blurgg-1120, the tiny weapon packing a heck of a punch at two Zabraks and then ducking down while simultaneously grabbing Kanan and throwing him down as well. Orgadomo gave an impressive bellow, charging into the fight and firing helter-skelter before launching a shoulder into a guard and tackling him and two others to a ground. Kanan slowed his breathing and focused again, waiting for his hand to stop shaking. He had just lined up a shot when a hand shoved him back to the floor and Hera curling down on top of him as several blasters shots exploded where his head had been seconds ago.

Right. Totally leaving this to Hera.

And he did _not_ think this was the time for a 22 Pick-Up! They'd made that protocol but he had _no intention_ on ever actually _using_ it. He wanted to live, thank you! He was about to ground out a retort but Hera shoved his head down again, firing twice before reaching for her comm.

"Specter Three, where are you?" she demanded. "We're at the bay doors but the firefight here is pretty heavy. We're pinned with the slaves by the air lock, we could really use that nose gun!"

Nausea swept over Kanan as a reply filtered over the comm, and this time he couldn't hold it in. He rolled out from under Hera and pulled himself up. His muscles locked and all he really understood after that was that any second his shoes were going to come out of his mouth. The smell of his sickness was foul and he was sweating again and every muscle was shaking under the strain before it finally finished. He gasped air greedily and dimly became aware of a hand between his shoulder blades.

Hera was offering comfort. Force, he would die for that woman.

He turned to her and gave a shaky nod. "Chopper?" he asked.

"Says he left a command in the ship to take care of it," she answered in a bitter tone. "We have to get closer."

Kanan looked passed the air lock to the firefight going on in the docking bay, guards and slavers firing at one end and the Twi'lek and Wookies and Togruta either hiding or firing back on the other, cargo crates everybody's only defense. Orgadomo was with the guards, creating a distraction but was slowly being overpowered. Hera lifted her blaster up to aim and then fire two shots before ducking back down. Just what command had Chopper input to fix a situation like this?

"How good are you at dodging blaster fire?" he asked, his voice raw.

"About as good as you coming up with plans," Hera said derisively.

He was not going to live this down. He rubbed his face. "Okay," he muttered. "Town drunk it is."

"What? Kanan...!"

He stood and then deliberately staggered out into the firefight. Hera stuttering in surprise. "Woohoo!" he whistled. "Did you see the explosions! That was _kriffing_ amazing! And the Stardestroyers!" He moved over to the slavers, grabbing one and slinging an arm over his shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the blaster fire. "It was like that live transmission of Empire Day a few years back, do you remember?" He slurred his words and leaned into the guard, into the fire of one of the Twi'lek across the bay. "Huh, you fall asleep? That's okay, I'll grab a drink with somebody else." He reached for the next guard, stepping a little closer to the _Ghost_. "How 'bout you, huh?"

The Zabrak turned and Kanan saw an enormous bacta patch on his nose. The Zabrak recognized him in an instant and immediately wrestled out of his grasp, backing up and closer to the ship. Perfect.

"Hey," he drawled, staggering further, "Where are you going? The fun's over that way!"

And then he crossed whatever invisible line Chopper had programed into the ship. Its alarms blared over the speakers and the nose gun swivels and shot right at – no, behind – Kanan. The line of slavers went flying as the turret started blasting in a set line at everything behind Kanan, leaving a neat row of scorch marks on the metal plating of the docking bay floor. Slavers that survived the outburst quickly scattered, the slaves pushing forward with the clear advantage. Kanan let the motion flow around him, a little to woozy to do anything other than stay perfectly still.

Not that that worked once the station rocked again. Kanan collapsed to the ground, both due to lack of balance and to the desperate need to once again empty the non-existent contents of his stomach. All that mattered was dry-heaving, barely breathing, as he tried to control his body enough to actually get a decent chunk of air between his body's need to expel everything.

It felt like an eternity.

Then he finally had the will to focus to control his body enough to clamp down on the choking response. Once he exercised his will, controlled the hacking enough to start getting breath, he started to calm down his body. With his body under control, he was finally able to just sag down to the ground, exhausted.

"Kanan," came a soft voice, and he was able to finally look outside himself enough to realize that Hera was by his side, tugging at an arm to get him up and moving. There was still a firefight going on in front of the _Ghost_ after all, even with the slavers fleeing in terror, and Chopper was rolling up from a hallway leaning fully on his front wheel, warbling something that Kanan couldn't make out at this distance, let alone with his inability to focus strongly.

"Hera," he replied.

"Can you stand?"

"You've already asked me that."

She gave a small chuckle. "Still working on it?"

He smiled.

"We need to get onto the _Ghost_."

"No arguments from me," Kanan replied. He tried to stand, his knees weak and body aching. And shivering. And trembling. "Not one of my better days."

"Not for either of us," Hera agreed.

Chopper came zooming up, garbling something, and paused by Kanan's side, letting the former Padawan lean onto a strut to help him get up. "Thanks, Chop," Kanan said softly, his throat feeling raw after all the gagging. He could already feel the nausea building again. With Hera on one side and Chopper on the other, they headed to the _Ghost_.

"Did Gobi's family come?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hera replied.

Kanan grimaced.

* * *

Hera couldn't blame Kanan. Gobi had been a help and like everyone else, she deserved to be safe with her family. Hera, herself had known far too many families that had been broken apart by slavery and she refused to let one more family be destroyed.

But Kanan wasn't well. It was clear that he was only holding on by force of will and that leaving the _Ghost_ and the IV drip of medicines they'd set up, had cost him. His normally well-tanned skin was sickly white, he was still sweating profusely, and his sopping clothes left him clearly chilled. And even outside of the shivers was the outright trembling. She started to guide him back to his bunk, past an upset Gobi and frantically explaining Yarua. Hera couldn't understand what Yarua was saying when he was speaking at that speed, and Kanan was her priority at the moment.

Kanan saw what she was doing right away, though.

"No, Hera. Cockpit. If the Empire is here, we need to _move_."

"You _need_ -"

"I can still co-pilot," Kanan said, standing straighter. "Once we're in hyperspace, _then_ you can worry about pumping me full of more drugs to counteract the drugs _already_ working their way through my system."

"Stubborn, stubborn man."

"That's why you love me."

Hera arched a brow, but dragged him to the cockpit anyway. She could see him settle heavily into his seat, but Hera was quick to take her seat. Gobi and Yarua followed behind as Hera quickly went through the pre-flight protocols. "Gobi," she said, booting up the guidance systems as Chopper plugged in to start calculating lightspeed, " _has your family arrived_?"

" _Yes,_ " she replied. " _They waited outside. But they were unable to come aboard, and we didn't know how to unlock the systems._ "

"There's Gobi's family," Kanan said, pointing out the window. "By the hanger doors."

And sure enough, there was a pink Twi'lek with a family of easily five or six huddled together.

And pinned down.

"I'll go get them," Kanan said, already standing. Or trying to.

Hera knocked him back to his seat. "No, you keep the preflight going. _I'll_ go get them." She moved to the back of the cockpit and to the ladder that lead down to the nose guns. She booted up the systems, deleted Chopper's program to fire five meters behind a running Kanan or Hera, and switched aiming over to manual. There were maybe a dozen guards left after the beating Chopper's program had unleashed. Her aim was careful, eyes narrowing and calculations floating through her head and... there! She fired the cannon, three bursts and watched as the slavers exploded up to the air. Satisfied, she left the nose gun and went down the lower hall, sliding down the ladder to the hanger and opening the bay door. She held her blaster in her hand, walking down the lowering ramp, and waved her free hand to get their attention. " _Over here_!" she shouted. " _Now! Hurry!_ "

The family needed no other prompting, running full tilt to the freighter and up the ramp. Hera punched the comm. "We're set! Take off!"

Kanan said nothing, but Hera felt the hum of the ship. The ramp locked into place and Hera checked the family quickly. "Is everyone okay?" she asked.

" _We're safe, alive!_ " said a pink Twi'lek.

Hera nodded. "We're not out of this yet. I've got to get to the cockpit. Do any of you know how to man a turret?"

Two of the men raised their hands, and Hera pointed them to the nose guns and the turret. One of the Twi'lek followed her up the ladder and she darted back down the hall to the cockpit. Kanan was still in his copilot chair, steering them out of the bay and into space. He looked _terrible_ , and didn't even quip when Hera took over the controls. She flipped the comms on. "Hang on everyone," she ordered. "Things might get a little bumpy."

Space had never looked sweeter after the mess on the slave station. Hera felt a rush of energy from toe to lekku as she saw the dark vacuum of space open up before her; her eyes dilated and she finally felt like she was home. They pulled out of the bay and her sensors fed her a stream of data: there were no Stardestroyers, the transmission hub was destroyed and setting off a string of explosions throughout the station, hence the constant rocking of the station as she and Kanan had been making their escape. The entire station was going to blow, and Hera knew it had something to do with Chopper. That C1 droid was going to get the oil bath of a lifetime for this.

Other data started to come in as well. Several of the slavers had managed to escape as well, as did slaves who knew how to fly ships. It was an areal dogfight of chaos, everyone firing at everyone else and everyone too panicked to bother to check transmission codes or actually _ask_ who was who. That meant a long string of unnecessary casualties and Hera wasn't going to have any of that. Her people had suffered enough.

She broadcasted on all frequencies. "Attention everyone," she said in her lightest tone of voice. "This is the Twi'lek that just blew up that crate of a space station and freed everyone there. If you want to come get a piece of me, try and take it!"

Kanan sputtered. "Hera, what...?"

"The 'town drunk' doesn't get to talk right now," Hera ordered. She didn't need snippy quips and one-liners while she was concentrating.

There must have been over two dozen ships in the air, most cargo freighters like hers but also some smaller, faster, and more heavily armed models. All of them turned to the _Ghost_ , but only the small armed models started firing right away, giving themselves up as slavers. That was all she needed and she spun the ship into a tight aileron roll and moving towards the enemies that were firing. Kanan swayed in his seat at the sudden increase in gravity but held himself steady, manning his position as co-pilot. The two Twi'lek at the guns fired, their aim wasn't as good as the Jedi's but he was in no condition to fire and Hera wasn't nearly as worried as she might have been.

The ships kept firing, of course, but the other freighters had changed trajectories and were closing in.

"Hera...!" Kanan slurred, voice cracking.

"Trust me!"

"I do, it's them I don't trust!"

"Well," she said with a grim smile, "You should!" And no sooner had she said so than the freighters opened fire on the smaller gunships, a massive barrage of artillery that couldn't miss. Three of the fighters blew up, five more were critically damaged, and suddenly there were only two left. "Like the odds better now?" she asked, a little coy.

"Much," Kanan said weakly. Hera glanced over, but the former Padawan had a large, stupid grin on his face.

"Send our hyperspace jump coordinates to the freighters that fired at the slavers, we'll rendezvous there and figure out what to do."

The jump lasted six hours. Hera stayed awake long enough to shove Kanan to his bunk, reinsert his IV and watch him give a tired smile before sinking back into unconsciousness. She gave the briefest of tours to all her new passengers ("Here's the fresher, here's the galley, we don't have enough bunks for everyone so forgive us if we make do..."), told Chopper to man the cockpit, then collapsed into her bed. Sleep was a dreamless oblivion for which she was grateful.

Her alarm went off a half hour before they would exit hyperspace, and she dragged herself out of sleep, feeling filthy, desperately needing a shower of _water_ , and remembering that there was far too much to do. Hera first went down to the cargo hold, and found all of the freed slaves still asleep. Gobi was encircled by her mother and the rest of her family, Yarua was stretched out with a pair of Twi'lek children using him as a warm fuzzy pillow.

Good, guests were managed.

Next stop was Chopper. He updated her on the _Ghost_ , fuel levels, incidental repairs that were never ending, and finally submitted a full report on his part of everything that had happened at the station. Hera smiled and patted Chopper's spinning head. "Very good," she complimented. "You did excellent work back there and everything worked out fairly well." She then scolded him. "But _next time_ , Chopper, you _let us know_ when you've decided to broadcast that the Empire has arrived so that we _know_ it is a ruse."

Unsurprisingly, Chopper was completely unrepentant, offering a long and extended opinion on communications and what was a need-to-know and what wasn't. Hera couldn't quite stop the chuckle, and patted his head again. "Just because it worked out this time doesn't mean it will next time," she replied. "We need to be kept in the loop when we're out in the field."

Standing, Hera stretched, still wanted to be either back in her bunk or a proper water shower. "Can you man the cockpit a bit longer? I want to check in on Kanan before we land."

Chopper gave an grumbling affirmative, and Hera patted his head again.

Kanan was still out of it when she came into his room, breathing in a deep, steady rhythm that indicated deep sleep. She sat beside him, and took his hand, an unpleasant feeling toiling in her gut. At the outset, Kanan had said that they couldn't save both the slaves and get the data. That slavery was so much bigger than what they could accomplish at one station. And he wasn't wrong. The Tyr brothers, or whatever their true name was, were dead, along with a large number of slavers and thousands of slaves had been freed. That was good. A clear victory. But Hera wasn't happy with it. Slavery was still out there, massive and seemingly unstoppable in the dark underbellies of the galaxy. They hadn't even made a fraction of a dent.

And it had _cost_ them. Kanan, in particular. Thinking back on everything, if they had focused on Tyr from the start, there wouldn't have been such a hullabaloo, they might have been able to sneak in and sneak out, unseen with none the wiser. But that would have been fruitless. Chopper had gone through the files of the station, there was no list. And while the tantalizing snippet they had received as proof was probably part of something larger, that was all they were going to get, if it was even everything it was advertised as.

No, they may have been able to sneak in to the station, get the list and leave undetected and with Kanan in a healthier position that what he was, but it would have been useless. A complete bust and all of their credits spent on meaninglessness. Saving the slaves... That _did_ have meaning. To Gobi and Yarua and all the others now finding a new path in the galaxy. But the cost...

Her thoughts were still spinning in circles when the hand she was holding squeezed her.

"Hey," she said softly, looking up to Kanan.

Kanan's eyes weren't as fevered, and while he still looked terrible, that was more from a desperate need of a shower than it was from illness.

"Hey," he replied. "What's our status?"

"Leaving hyperspace soon. Then, landing at a medcenter to get everyone a proper check-up and remove the slave chips. They don't know that yet." She looked him straight in the eye. "And getting _you_ checked out. Your system needs to be purged of whatever concoction of drugs invaded your system yesterday."

Kanan sat up easily, still holding her hand, and she was surprised to note that he had taken off his shirt at some point in the past six hours. How had he done that without jostling the IV? "Sorry, captain," he said as he adjusted himself to his seated position. "No medcenter for me. Ever. _Especially_ for bloodwork."

"Kanan," Hera replied just as firmly. "You were drugged. Drugged out of your mind. You'll need countermeasures-"

"Any blood-test will test for midichlorians."

Hera raised a brow. "And what does that mean?"

His thumb ran over her knuckles, staring at their joined hands. "They'd know I'm a Jedi. Or at least Force-sensitive given the amount of midichlorians, there would be an interest."

Her eyes widened.

"You'd have to tell them that I was drugged yesterday. And they'd be left wondering why I'm basically healthy and in desperate need of a water shower today instead of catatonic or seizing or hallucinating."

"But-"

"The Force makes its children resilient," he continued, still rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. "And when I lost all my faculties, the Force stepped in to help me heal. It was the only thing keeping me upright yesterday."

It was like she had been punched in the stomach. She knew that Kanan had been affected by some sort of combination of drugs, but he hadn't been affected for long and had made it to functioning within two hours to come and help her. But this... That the Force had stepped in to purge his systems, on top of a natural resilience to things... Would he have survived if he _hadn't_ been a Jedi? The consequences of her choosing both getting the list that hadn't ended up existing and rescuing the slaves suddenly slammed down around her shoulders and she was left winded. She had almost lost Kanan. She had almost _lost_ him because she tried to do both.

 _"Why should I have to choose? Why can't it be both? Why can't we – I – help everyone I see?"_

 _"Because it will destroy you, just like it did us."_

There was a cost to this rebellion she was helping to build. If she truly did try to help everyone, she'd spread herself so thin that anything would pierce her. She had reacted at that station, instead of planning and that wasn't her. She went against type. Instead of being cautious and calculating, she had acted more like Kanan, reckless. Kanan, instead of flying by the seat of his pants, had been the planner. They had reversed their roles and it had almost ended in disaster.

Hera squeezed Kanan's hand.

She needed to be better. So she would be.

"You may not go to a medcenter, but you _are_ going to get a shower," she said, leaning back and wrinkling her nose. "Preferably with water. And a great deal of soap."

Kanan gave his usual cocksure grin and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "You're no flower yourself at the moment. Want to join me in the shower to save some water?"

"That would be a no," she said primly, standing. "And I get first dibs on the shower anyway," she said heading out the door. "After all, it was _your_ plan that went awry."

"There we go," Kanan smiled. "I knew this was all my fault."

"Of course it is."

 **The End**

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Annnnnd we're done. With this fic.

One thing we've noticed while combing through the pitifully small amount of Rebels fanfics that currently exist is that people tend to forget Chopper. One the one hand, we understand. He doesn't speak comprehensible dialogue and, like with Chewbacca, that makes quite the challenge when figuring out how to write him. Does a character translate? Do you translate? If so how do you know if the voice is correct or not? Etc, etc. But just because Chopper is challenging doesn't mean one should forget him. He's an important member of the crew with his own personality that interacts and bounces off everyone else. _New Dawn_ doesn't mention Chopper at all, but the two of us are under the head-canon that Chopper was simply with the _Ghost_ , looking after it. So when we approached this fic, we knew that Chopper would need to be at least _mentioned_ so as to not forget him. Instead Chopper, being Chopper, insisted that he'd have a scene and be a complete badass droid. Well okay. And since the two of us have a background in computer programming, we could look at what type of variable names and protocols he'd use and start figuring out how Chopper likely saw the world. Our most favorite line from Chopper was the line of code, because it makes us nostalgic.

But you're not here for us to talk about how Chopper is fun, if difficult to write. Nope, you want to read about the rest. Honestly, there wasn't much left at that point. We were in finale mode at any rate. And after spending the past two parts with both Kanan and Hera playing against type, this chapter was about them reverting to type. Hera to covert-spyishness and Kanan reverting first to Jedi, then town drunk. Once they're back into the roles they usually do, things go much smoother. Because that's the version of each other that they're used to working with.

More importantly, however, Hera comes to understand, _truly_ understand, why Kanan is so careful and hidden with his abilities. To our minds, he'd never go to a med-center willingly. Of course, we wrote this _before_ we learned of that one time Kanan got stabbed in the back, left bleeding to die, and ended up in a bacta-tank at a med-center. *sigh* we can't always keep up with everything Star Wars. We'll call that instance extreme duress and a friendly rebel-aligned med-center until we actually find and read the comic. But the point of the scene was that Hera had started the fic convinced she could do both at once. And both were important. One for the rebellion, one for her people. And yes, there are bound to be times on the _Ghost_ where two or even three objectives are on the agenda that they need to get done and balance and prioritize. But this was Hera reacting instead of thinking. It was the major point of her going against type. And she's learned her lesson. When we meet Hera in Rebels, she's cautious and careful, almost always staying with the _Ghost_ , but adaptable. Here she was more rigid and unbending and she learned the cost by what had happened to Kanan.

To our minds, both Hera and Kanan save each other when they meet. Kanan is the most obvious, he was a total mess when Hera found him and by working with her, he's straightening himself out and getting back to what he believes he should be. But Hera starts off in _New Dawn_ as very distant and professional. She needs to learn from Kanan how to let down some of those barriers and reach out. She's the heart of the team in Rebels for a reason, and Kanan was the impetus for that as far as the two of us are concerned.

Anyway.

We hope you enjoyed. We have a LOT more Rebels fics and ficlets beta-read and ready to go. Wednesday seems to be working out for a good posting day for these, so next week, feel free to check our profile for another Rebels fic.

Thanks for reading.


End file.
